They Never Bury Your Bones
by ListerOfTardis
Summary: While seeking help for their injured captain, Hook's crew are tricked by a wily healer, threatening Hook's ability to be a pirate. Set entirely during Hook's Neverland days.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This is a spin-off of my other story "Or Sleep with the Fishes," but it isn't necessary to have read it, as they are completely separate tales. You only need to know that I love whumping Killian, and that I ascribe to the "Hook as Pan's sex slave" headcanon.**

 **Rated M for violence, gore, language, and hints of non-con (with the possibility of an explicit scene that I may or may not include. I will give a warning at the beginning of the chapter if I do.)**

 **Chapter 1 is verbatim from chapter 17 of "Fishes."**

 **Chapter 1**

"I'll see you hanged, dirty pirate!"

Hook writhed under the spear impaling his shoulder, pinning him to the wall. He turned a murderous glare on the man who'd bested him and sneered through his pain.

"What's the matter? Too afraid to finish me yourself?"

The villager scowled but remained out of reach. "A quick death is too easy for the likes of Captain Hook."

"Well, listen to that. I'm famous."

"Most people think you're some kind of demon, coming out of the Underworld every few years to wreak your destruction on the innocent." He smirked and indicated Hook's wound. "I don't know though; you look pretty mortal to me."

A woman's scream sounded not far off, and the gazes of both men flicked in that direction. Hook chuckled mirthlessly.

"You have a wife, mate? Children?" His voice became a husky rumble. "Daughters?" His lecherous leer, forced though it was, had the desired effect as the villager lunged forward with an enraged snarl. His fist flew, and Hook's head snapped back against the wall hard enough to momentarily darken his vision.

"You'll not lay a finger on them! I'll see to that!"

Blinking back wooziness, the pirate huffed another pained laugh, noting the other man's sword against his throat. "I think you'll agree I'm hardly in a position to threaten anyone just now. Alas, the same cannot be said of me crew…"

After a flicker of uncertainty, the villager pasted a brave face over his worry. "Zeus will protect them. I will do my duty."

Suddenly, the man staggered backwards, then fell to his knees, his own dagger buried up to its hilt in his abdomen.

"Looks like Zeus is on my side; apologies, mate," Hook called down mockingly. Just then, Smee scurried around the corner, Johnny Corkscrew unsheathed. He stopped short and took in the scene.

"Impeccable timing, Smee," growled Hook.

"Sorry, Captain, I…" He rushed forward and held his dagger to the wounded villager's throat. Then his anxious stare returned to his captain. "How can I help?"

Hook raised a shaking hand to the spear handle and attempted to tug it free of the wall, but it was stuck fast, and his pain was now magnified tenfold. He moaned a breath and waved his hand at his cutlass, which lay just beyond his feet. "My blade," he breathed. Smee dragged the whimpering villager along until he could reach the captain's weapon while still keeping control of the captive.

Hook grasped the cutlass hilt tightly and grit his teeth. Without allowing himself to dwell on how much it would hurt, he took a mighty swing at the spear haft. Unfortunately, it was more sturdy than he'd hoped, and the blade only managed to cut a nick in the wood. With an agonized cry, he gripped the protruding weapon to stop its vibration, only just managing to keep a hold of the cutlass at the same time.

"Smee," he gasped, eyes screwed shut.

"Oh, gods, Captain; why would you do that?"

"Release the prisoner and come help me. He's not going anywhere."

Smee stepped away from the villager, who was still clutching at his wound, but managed a taunting sneer up at Hook.

"I got you good."

"I'll have your head for ruining my coat," Hook bit back with all the false bravado he could muster. Smee hovered at his shoulder, afraid to touch the spear.

"What do I do, sir?"

"Step back," hissed Hook. "Unless you'd like a hook of your own."

Smee complied quickly.

"And grasp the damn spear shaft so I can cut it short."

Smee got the picture. "Wait. What if… I think it would maybe work better if I… did the cutting? And you hold it steady closer to where it… goes in?"

Hook swallowed and nodded, conceding the point. He passed the cutlass to his first mate and wrapped his fingers in a death grip around the wood flush against his shoulder. "Not too close, mate. I don't fancy a shave today."

Nervously, Smee nodded and gripped the other end of the spear in his left hand and the cutlass in his right. He eyed the spot he was aiming for and then drew back the blade. Then he paused.

"Ready, sir?"

"Bloody hell, mate, just get on with it!"

Smee licked dry lips and then swung the blade, quickly but timidly. The spear splintered but remained intact. Hook moaned imprecations as his knees threatened to give way. Smee bit back a curse of his own before bringing the cutlass crashing down again. This time, the spear snapped off, leaving only a bit more than a hand's width protruding from the pirate's shoulder.

Face frozen in a grimace, Hook gasped several breaths and fought against the fiery agony racing through his arm and chest. He shuddered and began inching his left boot upwards against the wall, until the sole rested flat, his knee bent. Smee noticed and sputtered,

"Wait, Captain, are you sure that's the wisest…"

With an anguished yell, Hook launched himself forward, wrenching his shoulder free from the spear. He staggered a step and then collapsed onto his knees, hand pressed tightly against the wound. Smee gave an anxious whine and crouched next to his captain.

"Let me see," he commanded before gently pulling Hook's hand away. The bleeding was heavy, but not spurting in the manner in which Smee had come to associate with mortal wounds. He allowed Hook to resume clutching at the injury.

"Gods," hissed Hook, his eyes shut tightly in a wince. He arched his back at the unexpected contact when Smee pressed a handkerchief to the exit hole in his shoulderblade.

"Thought Zeus was on your side," muttered the villager from a few meters away.

"Still with us, mate?" Hook opened his eyes and glared. "What an unpleasant surprise. Smee."

Smee was attempting to dig some bandages from his satchel with one hand. "Almost finished, sir."

"That he is."

"I… I don't follow," Smee admitted.

"The honor is yours, sailor. Finish him."

"In a minute, Captain. First let me-"

" _Now_." His savage tone had Smee on his feet in an instant with Johnny Corkscrew in hand.

"Yes Captain."

Smee still hated killing. Always would. But he had grown unfortunately accustomed to it, and no longer hesitated to follow Hook's orders.

The doomed villager held up a hand to ward off the blow. "Wait! Spare me, and I'll give you something you want."

"Kill him, Smee. I'm not interested."

"It's about the Dark One," the man choked, Johnny tight against his jugular. Hook raised an eyebrow, and Smee paused.

"Dark One? Never heard of him," Hook replied casually. The other man gulped and continued.

"Tales of Captain Hook also describe how you raid libraries, places of learning. You torture wise men and witches, seeking information about the Dark One."

"And who is telling these tales? Captain Hook shows no mercy."

"Must be survivors. I don't know that part. But I _do_ have something on the Dark One. I swear. Let me live, and I will impart my knowledge."

"Go on then. We'll decide later whether it's worth your life."

The villager licked his lips, saying,

"They say… his power is linked to a dagger. Similar in design to the one currently against my throat, in fact."

"Convenient," remarked a dubious Hook. He knew of the dagger's existence already, of course, from his brief encounter with Baelfire so long ago. But any details on its appearance or whereabouts had so far eluded him.

"If you can find the dagger, you can control him with it… or kill him and take his power for yourself."

Hook's expression darkened momentarily. Then he scoffed, trying to draw more information from the man. "Imaginative. Not bad, under duress. Smee?"

The villager hissed at the tightening of Smee's grip. "It's the truth! I swear it!"  
"Aye? And how do you happen to be an expert on all things Dark One?"

"I wanted to be prepared for just such an eventuality as this. It's worth the price I paid if you let me and my family live."

"Afraid your word alone won't suffice for me. It's the company I keep." Hook winced a grin at Smee's affronted huff.

"I thought as much. That's why I have proof."

Hook struggled to hold onto his look of disinterest. In truth, his heart hammered at the prospect of actual progress after so many fruitless years. "Have you now? Let's have it, then."

"I don't have it _with_ me. I didn't wake up this morning planning to get caught up in a pirate raid. It's at my home."

"Ah." Hook allowed himself to slouch forward, his pain and exhaustion only serving to magnify his disappointment. "A trap then."

"No, no; I swear it isn't! On… on the life of my beloved."

It must have been the shock and blood loss, but Hook found himself inclined to believe the man. And for _proof_ of the weapon that could kill the Crocodile… it was worth the risk.

"There never was a trap could hold Captain Hook for long," he boasted ironically. None but his crew knew of their enslavement to Pan, to Neverland… the biggest trap of them all.

Hook turned his gaze to his first mate. "Up for a little walk, Mister Smee?"

"I don't know, Captain; we really ought to get you back to the ship so I can patch you up."

"Your tortures can wait," Hook grimaced. "Our new friend has made an invitation we can't refuse." He nodded at the man's wound. "Give him some assistance so he won't drop dead along the way."

Smee looked annoyed, but put away his dagger and dug out the bandage he had intended for Hook.

"No need to be gentle about it, though," Hook winked.

After both men had temporary bandages courtesy of Smee, they began the agonizing trek to the villager's house. Hook wouldn't have minded the slow pace, as his own legs trembled and the world seemed determined to knock him sideways with its spinning - except that his thirst for vengeance was a serious competitor with his patience. Smee was content to keep an eye on both patients and watch for straggling resistance from the other villagers.

Their guide finally limped to a halt in front of a moderate-sized dwelling, looking sweaty and ashen; Hook was sure his own countenance mirrored the other's.

"Smee? If you would?"

Sighing, Smee guessed,

"Spring the trap?"

"Your life for a chance at my revenge? A bargain, that."

Smee nodded resignedly and pushed his way inside, leading the way with Johnny Corkscrew. Hook and the villager waited outside, eyeing each other distrustfully. Finally, Smee returned with a shrug.

"There's no one inside. Want me to keep watch out here?"

"Aye. And don't bugger it up this time."

Smee winced and then stepped aside. Hook bade the villager lead the way, and he followed with cutlass in hand.

The house really was deserted, as far as Hook could tell. "Where's the missus, then?"

The homeowner sneered.

"Safe," was his belligerent reply. Hook prodded his shoulder with his blade.

"Need I remind you of our purpose here? You've one minute to retrieve your proof, or your lady comes home to a corpse in her bed."

Wordlessly, the other man led Hook to a small room that seemed to serve as library, laundry, and larder all in one. Without hesitation, the man pulled a book from its shelf and thumbed it open to a marked page. His fingers left rusty smudges on the paper; Hook's did likewise when he reached to take the proffered volume. Sure enough, the page contained a sketch of the dagger, ornately decorated but otherwise very like Johnny Corkscrew in size and shape. A short written description confirmed what the man had said earlier. Hook dangled the book open in an attempt to flick through the pages one-handed.

"Does it contain any other mentions of that demon?"

The man shook his head. "But feel free to take it and look for yourself."

"I'll do that, though I hardly need your permission, mate."

Hook tucked the book between his chest and immobile brace so he could properly brandish his weapon. Stepping closer, he shoved the villager back against the wall, blade to his throat. Both men winced simultaneously at the spikes of pain from their respective injuries.

"How do I know this isn't a forgery?"

"You don't," the man choked out. "But it isn't. I got it from a wandering wizard, several years back. I bet if you were to bring it to someone gifted in magic, they could confirm for you that it's genuine."

"The wizard. What did he look like?"

"Like… a wizard. White hair, long beard."

Hook scowled at the flippant reply, but was too weary and in too much pain to berate him for it. "Let me guess. You know nothing of his origin or destination."

"Like I said. A wanderer. Not seen him before, nor since."

It couldn't have been someone he _knew_. Someone who lived in the village, whom Hook could interrogate for more details. Of _course_ it was a rover. Considering how much time had already elapsed in Neverland, how many blasted decades until the _next_ snippet of information finally made its way into his possession?

Without further conversation, he forced the other man back to the doorway, where Smee waited vigilantly.

"Well?" asked Smee eagerly.

"He speaks truth," Hook reported. "Alas, no mention of the blasted dagger's whereabouts."

"So… now what?"

Both pirates looked at the villager, who met their gazes bravely. Hook sighed and sheathed his cutlass.

"Leave him be. By the look of that wound, he's not long for this world anyway."

Smee couldn't help a relieved little grin as the villager rolled his eyes and slammed the door behind them. "Back to the ship?"

"Aye. Back to the ship." Hook shifted his grip on the book and winced. "Bloody hell. Back to the _rum_ ," he amended emphatically.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It wasn't as easy a prospect as he'd made it sound. Utterly ransacked, deathly quiet except for the crackling of dwindling flames, the village appeared to have lost the interest of Hook's crew. The pirates were likely all back aboard the ship, taking their ease and celebrating the victory, unknowingly leaving their wounded captain to the dubious protection and assistance provided by Smee.

The duo rounded the corner one scant block from the dwelling, both thanking the fates the street was clear - for now. One shaky step down the cobblestones and Hook suddenly lurched sideways, his fall broken by an unfortunate collision between the nearest wall and his injured shoulder. He released a grunt of agony and struggled to keep to his feet, eventually ending with his upper back contacting the rough wood as he shuddered through his anguish.

Smee was at his side in an instant, apprehension apparent on his features. He gently grasped the prized book.

"Let me take this for you, sir," Smee offered as he wiggled the tome from its position trapped between brace and torso. Hook cursed when the movement jostled his shoulder.

"Bloody hell," he moaned, unable to harass or even reprimand his first mate for the pain he was causing. Smee tucked the bloodstained book into his satchel, turning his attention to Hook's shoulder. The bandage was soaked through; blood ran in crimson rivulets down the captain's vest and decorated the cobblestones at his feet.

"We… may need to get you help here in the village," Smee stammered shakily. "I'm not sure you'll make it to the ship."

"Your worst idea yet," wheezed Hook. He pressed his hand to his shoulder, closed his eyes, and let his head drop back against the wall. His left arm had gone almost entirely numb by that point. But the shoulder… well, the shoulder howled with even the slightest twitch of a muscle.

Smee pulled out another bandage and moved Hook's hand aside to press it on top of the red cloth already there. Hook grimaced at the contact.

"If we can at least find the surgeon's place of business, he'd have the tools for me to stop the bleeding."

"Aye, and probably a dozen guards as well, as he tends to their wounded. We'd not get within ten meters of the place."

Smee began to wind the last of his bandages tightly around the new padding, causing a weak cry of pain from Hook when he had to lift the arm slightly to wrap beneath it. Pausing in his work, Smee passed his canteen of water to his captain. Hook could barely manage to grasp the item.

"Drink it," Smee ordered. "All of it."

The injured pirate struggled to obey through his labored breaths, pausing once to grumble,

"What kind of pirate carries water into a pillaging?"

"One that's currently trying to save his captain's life," Smee shot back, stress and anxiety inspiring a sharp tongue. Hook choked down the rest of the water just as Smee tied a firm knot on the new bandage. The captain grimaced again and then plastered on a brave face, his eyes just slightly unfocused.

"Stow the mother hen act. I can make it; easily."

Hook pushed off the wall and immediately listed so badly to the side that he ended up falling heavily to the ground; unable to catch himself completely, his right arm only slowed his progress before he landed flat on his face.

Both pirates swore colorfully. Hook's pain had ratcheted impossibly higher, and he took a moment to hiss quickly through his teeth, eyes watering. Smee dropped to his knees next to the captain.

"Easy, huh?" he asked cynically. Hook choked back his anguish and snarled,

"Watch it, mate."

He made a weak attempt to raise himself to his knees, then flopped back down with a groan, spent. Smee gripped his good shoulder in an attempt to coax him up.

"Just need a moment…" Hook mumbled, eyes closed.

"We can't stay here, sir," Smee insisted. "The next village will have seen the smoke. Reinforcements could be here at any time."

As if to prove him correct, they both heard heavy footfalls approaching from around the corner. Panicked, Smee practically dragged Hook up to his knees. Hook moaned but unsheathed his cutlass, gripping as tightly as he could manage. Smee fumbled with his dagger, quaking with fright. Hook forced himself to his feet; he only managed to remain upright when Smee held a steadying hand against his back. The captain cursed in frustration as Smee looked back the way they'd come.

"Retreat?"

Listening intently, Hook shook his head, nearly losing his balance again as a result. "No time. And it's only one."

They waited a tense moment more, then both wilted in relief when a familiar figure rounded the corner.

"Starkey!" exclaimed Smee. "Thank Heavens it's only you."

Smee sheathed his dagger as the bosun jogged closer. Hook raised an eyebrow in a shadowy parody of his normal cocky attitude.

"What brings you our way, mate?" the captain inquired hoarsely. Starkey's gaze jumped from Hook's wound to Smee's anxious face and up to meet Hook's eyes.

"Figured I ought to see what's keeping you, sir," Starkey responded carefully. "The crew's keen to put out to sea, with the nearby villages and all."

"How'd we make out?" Hook wondered with false cheer; Smee couldn't believe the time he was willing to waste to protect his image.

"Grand 'aul, Cap'n. You'll be pleased." Starkey again studied Hook's bandaged shoulder. "All right there, sir?"

"Fine, mate," Hook scoffed, but Smee shook his head.

"No, he's not; he can hardly keep his feet anymore. Have you seen the village healer anywhere?"

Starkey looked taken aback for an instant before nodding. Over Hook's feeble protests, he pointed in the opposite direction from the ship. "Few blocks thataway. Last I saw, the man still drew breath, though that could well 'ave changed since then."

"All I need are his supplies," Smee retorted.

"Got any rum, mate?" Hook interrupted, realizing he was about to get outvoted. Starkey produced a flask, which Hook accepted with a trembling, blood-coated hand.

"Who was it bested you, Cap'n? Blaggard must have been an 'ell of a swordsman."

"Bloody sorcery, more like," Hook corrected untruthfully, taking a long pull from the flask. He didn't bother to correct the assumption that his attacker was dead. To admit otherwise would imply mercy, and that wasn't what happened. Not really. Hook wasn't sure what it _was_ , but it certainly wasn't _mercy._

Meanwhile, behind his back, Smee signalled frantically at Starkey to hurry it up. The larger man rolled his eyes and then moved closer, cautious of wounding his captain's carefully-cultivated pride.

"Need an 'and, sir?" winked Starkey. Hook smirked.

"Kind of you to notice."

The familiar cruel joke made it somehow okay for Hook to accept help. Starkey stepped even closer and wormed his way under Hook's right arm. Even as he leaned heavily on his bosun, the captain made the obligatory disdainful protest.

"Bloody hell, mate; you know I despise coddling."

"Aye, so you do."

Starkey made no apology, instead taking a slow step forward and observing Hook as he stumbled along with him. Smee snatched the flask from Hook to afford him a better grip on Starkey's arm, and Hook growled his displeasure.

"I'm going to need that, Smee."

"You probably will, but right now the only thing that would happen would be a waste of good rum all down your front."

Hook scowled, even though he knew Smee was right.

"I'll keep it safe for you," Smee promised, more gently.

Just then, Hook stumbled on a protruding stone, winced, and was forced to concentrate on his feet. The pitching of the earth's surface was causing Hook's stomach to rebel, his eyes fluttering closed every so often; snapping open again when he felt his head begin to loll forward. Cold sweat prickled his face, and he felt as if he were slowly suffocating - his heart and lungs working overtime, yet unable to propel enough oxygen through his heavy limbs. He could hear a whispered conversation taking place between Smee and Starkey, but despite their proximity, he couldn't make out one word through the roaring in his ears. A small spike of dread snaked its way up his spine.

Hook didn't fear death. He would welcome it, if it meant the Dark One would cease to be. But to go now, before his chance at vengeance… when he'd just found such a vital clue…

...Would actually be right in line with all of the other misfortunes plaguing his seemingly cursed life.

Hook released a growl of frustration, which Starkey misinterpreted as pain. The bosun shifted his grasp, murmuring,

"Almost there, Cap." Starkey stared down the street ahead of them, adding under his breath, " _Think_ it's this'un…"

Smee had his dagger out again, recognizing that he was their first line of defense in case of ambush. Hook wouldn't be much help, and it would take Starkey precious seconds to extricate himself and draw his own weapon. Thankfully, they had yet to encounter anyone in the desolate streets of the devastated village. But that was about to change.

They could hear raised voices in the distance. Not anger: fear, pain. Grief. Starkey glanced over at Smee, whose determined mask shivered at the edges. At the next corner, Starkey slowed, Hook staggering to a stop with him.

"Wait 'ere," commanded the bosun, and he ducked out from under Hook's arm. Smee helped settle the captain against the wall with cutlass in hand, his knees desperately locked in the struggle not to collapse. As Smee backed away, he held up his hands, as if trying to support Hook from a distance. Hook gave a jerky, impatient nod, indicating he was all right for now. Then both Smee and Starkey charged around the corner.

Trembling with exhaustion and pain, Hook listened to the clash of steel as his own weapon sank lower and lower until the point rested on the ground. He'd be useless if anyone accosted him at that moment. Still, he kept a wary eye out for approaching villagers. Maybe the adrenaline of the moment would give him strength, if it came to that.

A short while later - though still too long considering Hook's rapidly fading power to stand - his two crew members returned, panting and sweating, but apparently victorious. Hook let his cutlass clang to the cobblestones and instead slapped his hand against the wall. It wasn't much help. Smee clicked his tongue as he retrieved the weapon; Starkey resumed his place at Hook's side.

The pirate captain all but collapsed against his bosun, uncharacteristically silent. Wordlessly, the trio rounded the bend, picked their way past the bodies of several villagers, and headed for a wide-open door halfway down the street. The occasional moan still wafted out into the night air, accompanied by the distinct odors of wounded flesh and healer's poultices.

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 **AN: Starkey is the bosun in this story; I don't know if there's any canon list of ranks aboard the Jolly Roger, apart from Smee being the first mate. It's just easier to keep track of who's who if they have a distinct rank, so I don't have to use their name every single time.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Smee boldly led the way into the healer's dwelling, with Starkey dragging a barely-lucid Hook immediately behind. Every table, chair, and mattress bore an injured villager - sometimes two - and more rested against walls, in the corners, by the hearth… each clutching their hurts while staring desperately at the lone figure dashing among them. The healer glanced up at the newest arrivals before snarling,

"No way in hell."

He resumed his bandaging without another word. Two less-seriously injured men dragged themselves to their feet, drawing weapons.

"Don't worry about these scum, Titus; we'll deal with them," growled one as they advanced. Starkey hastily cleared a bench of its occupant and dumped his captain there instead. Hook groaned, wincing at the shock to his wound. With both Starkey and Smee now free to engage their attackers, the two villagers hesitated. The bosun took a menacing step forward, cutlass flashing patterns in the lantern light, and the men shrank back, searching desperately for backup among their wounded comrades. None of the others appeared well enough - or, perhaps, willing enough - to join them.

Haughtily, Starkey nudged the door shut with his foot, saying,

"'Ere's 'ow this is to work, buckos. All of you who want to live will leave us in peace to deal with our mate 'ere. No one leaves until we do. Do we 'ave ourselves an understanding?"

The tip of his cutlass made a slow semi-circle as Starkey glared at each villager in turn. He ended with his scowl on the healer, Titus, who very deliberately finished his current task before meeting the pirate's gaze. Titus curled his lip disdainfully before shrugging.

"I'm not stopping you."

Smee was already sizing up the selection of tools and herbs at his disposal, but he turned back to Starkey with a hiss.

"We're trapping ourselves in here."

Starkey replied with a placid look. "With plenty of 'ostages. You just deal with the cap'n; I'll worry about our exit."

Hook panted against the wall, sweating, eyes screwed shut. The bluish-gray tinge around his lips sent a pulse of adrenaline through Smee, who quickly snatched some supplies and carried them with shaking hands to his captain's side. He set them on the bench and then unceremoniously wrenched the hook from its brace - for everyone's safety. Hook didn't so much as open his eyes.

"Captain, I need to see your shoulder. Are you able to help me get your coat off?"

At that, Hook's eyelids fluttered momentarily, and he blinked dazed recognition at his first mate. Smee tugged at the cuff of his right sleeve. Almost instinctively, Hook pulled his arm back until Smee could free it from the sleeve, then leaned forward slightly to allow its movement behind his back. As gently as he could, Smee tugged the coat out from under and behind the captain, then off the injured left shoulder and over the brace.

With the precious coat out of the way, Smee allowed Hook to rest back against the wall and set to work cutting away the dripping bandages. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of blood. Before pulling the last layer of dressings free, Smee tore the buttons from Hook's shirt as he heaved it open at the front. Then in one swift, brutal movement, Smee stripped all fabric from the wounded shoulder. Hook flinched and gave voice to a tiny whine as the bits of his shirt that had started sticking to the edges of the wound ripped away. He reached up and gripped Smee's wrist weakly.

"Where's'at rum?" slurred Hook, as Smee pressed a clean cloth against the leaking hole in his captain's shoulder. Blood left trails down Hook's chest, pooling at the gathered fabric near his waist. Smee fumbled for the flask in his pocket and then passed it to Hook. The pirate struggled the lid off and attempted to lift it to his mouth, but his hand trembled too much; his arm lacked the strength. The flask slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor with a splash. Hook swore softly and banged his head back against the wall, unable to prevent a few tears of pain from leaking out.

Starkey crouched to rescue the remaining brew, keeping a wary eye on the rest of the room. The pirates were being pointedly ignored for now, although the two men from earlier were nearby, keeping their own vigil. The bosun sat gingerly on the bench to Hook's right, setting his cutlass carefully within reach. Then he raised the flask to his captain's lips. Hook's eyes fluttered open and he accepted the mouthful of rum.

Smee hefted a flagon that was helpfully labeled _For Cleaning Wounds,_ glancing at Starkey, who nodded grimly. Starkey forced more liquor into his captain's mouth, then cast about for something Hook could bite down on. He finally fished out a pair of leather gloves he occasionally used while performing his duties aboard ship. Selecting the left one, he offered it to the captain.

"Tear it up, Cap'n. You've always got one to spare, right, sir?"

Hook didn't appear to comprehend the joke. He took the leather between his teeth, apprehensive eyes darting to Smee's hands. Panting quickly in anticipation, the captain cringed back and turned his face away, squeezing his eyes tight. Starkey gripped his wrist and other shoulder to steady him.

Hook's anguished cry - muffled slightly by the glove - rang out as the liquid burned through his wound. Starkey held fast to the arm that instinctively fought to push away the source of the pain. Smee poured more of the strong-smelling solution over the wound; front side only, as the back was out of reach for the moment. Doing his best to ignore Hook's pitiful moans, Smee gently dabbed the rag at the wound's edges, trying to see within the hole before blood obscured his view again. Smee frowned. Without allowing a thought to the pain he was causing, Smee prodded one edge of the broken skin. Hook whined again.

"Sorry, sir," winced Smee, before gingerly pushing a finger into the hole. Hook howled and struggled against Starkey's grip. The bosun got to his feet and twisted to throw more weight against the thrashing captain, hissing as he did so:

"Bloody 'ell, Smee; you out of yer bleedin' 'ead?"

Starkey glanced behind them to make sure no one was approaching. Smee continued to probe grimly, grunting,

"There's a… splinter…"

Starkey shuddered. Hook's movements were weakening; his cries becoming hoarse whimpers. Pink-tinged foam coated the corners of his mouth, his tongue or cheek bleeding from where he'd bitten himself rather than the glove. Smee grimaced and shook his head.

"I can feel it, I just can't… But I can't _leave_ it there…"

"You'll need these, I think," came a sullen voice from behind them. Starkey lunged for his cutlass and whirled; without the support, Hook toppled forward, limp. Smee just barely managed to catch his captain before he could slump to the floor.

Titus stood a few paces behind them, calmly holding up a pair of slender tongs. As Starkey eyed the healer suspiciously, Smee gulped and then whispered to his comrade,

"That… would be helpful. Probably."

Starkey took a step forward. "And you'll just… 'and 'em over?"

"I'm not using them," Titus pointed out carelessly. One of the villagers muttered an angry rant at the offer, but Titus paid it no heed. Keeping a sharp eye out for deception, Starkey stalked forward and snatched the tool from the healer's hand. He took two steps backward before turning around - just in case the healer had a hidden weapon.

Smee had finagled Hook back against the wall, where he sat shuddering with his head lolled forward and his hand clinging weakly to Smee's sleeve. The tooth-marked glove lay discarded on Hook's lap. Starkey passed over the tongs and gently pried the captain's fingers from their grip; Hook barely registered the change. Though he was drenched in sweat, his skin was clammy and deathly pale. Starkey rested a hand on his chest and murmured,

"It's okay to black out, sir. We've got it covered in 'ere. Though we thank you for yer concern."

Starkey tried a wink at Smee, who had paled a little himself now he held the metal tool in his hands. Smee lifted the rag and willed his fingers to steady.

Hook's eyes snapped open and he gasped a breath when he felt sharp metal penetrate the exposed flesh of his shoulder. Jerking backward only aggravated the knot in the back of his skull: the tongs continued their relentless torture, feeling like white-hot pokers inside him. With an anguished growl, Hook pulled sideways, writhing on the bench, but Starkey's bruising grip held him in place.

"I can't… see!" Smee complained tightly. Starkey glanced around the room, searching for the nearest lantern. It was in the hands of Titus… who was sidling closer. Starkey tensed, not wanting to release Hook while the metal still probed his wound, but unsure of the healer's intentions. The bosun eyed the cutlass at Hook's side.

"Give it here," commanded Titus in a bored tone. Smee glanced back.

"Excuse me?"

"You obviously don't know what you're doing. Let me."

Smee scowled, offended. "I have just as much experience as you; maybe more. I just need that lantern."

Titus rolled his eyes. He nodded at Hook, who now slumped between the wall and Starkey's restraint, too exhausted to do much beyond pant keening breaths, slack-jawed, and grip loosely at Starkey's arm.

"He should be lying down with his feet elevated. That bleeding needs to stop _now_ , or you'll lose your dear captain."

Smee gently removed the tongs and covered the wound with his rag. Hook grimaced, shivering.

"If you haven't noticed, beds are at a premium in here," huffed Smee. Starkey added,

"And we need to watch yer door."

Titus hung the lantern from a hook on the wall, which accentuated even further the gray pallor to their captain's skin. Without seeming to worry whether he'd be run through by the nervous pirates around him, Titus grabbed Hook's coat from the floor, rolled it up, and placed it on the end of the bench to Hook's right. Then he ducked under Starkey and grasped Hook's boots.

"Move," the healer commanded boldly. Starkey stepped back as much as he could while still supporting Hook. Titus slunk under his arms and pulled Hook's legs up onto the bench, on top of the coat. The pirate captain grunted but did not struggle. Smee and Starkey helped lower his torso and head until he stretched full out on the narrow bench.

"Better," Titus announced. "Now his heart doesn't have to work as hard to get blood to his brain."

"I didn't think he'd fit," grumbled Smee. He glanced at the stripe of blood painting the wall where Hook had been leaning and shuddered. Titus unceremoniously snatched the tongs from Smee and knelt next to the injured captain. After another glance around the room, Starkey bent to hover over Hook as he grasped both of his wrists. At the head of the bench, Smee retrieved the lantern and held it closer to provide maximum light for Titus to work. Despite his protestations, he actually didn't mind leaving the job to a professional for once. And now he could keep an eye on their hostages too.

Hook could only shift feebly on the bench as Titus dabbed away some of the blood and then introduced the tongs back into the wound. The pirate's vocalizations were quieter, too; he appeared on the very edge of unconsciousness. After only a moment of careful manipulation, the healer successfully grasped the wooden splinter and slowly pulled it free. The dark crimson pool rose faster and began to drizzle and collect in the crease between Hook's pectoral muscles. Titus covered the wound, shaking his head solemnly.

"Were he my patient, I'd attempt internal cautery to stop the bleeding, though that's likely to lead to gangrene." He stood, leaving the rag resting gently on Hook's shoulder. "By the look of him, though, he's lost too much blood already."

Smee met his eyes with a determined scowl. "Well he's not dead yet; we're not giving up on him."

Titus walked away without another word, apparently done with the conversation. Smee took his place, handing the lantern to Starkey. The bosun still rested one hand on Hook's brace, but it was mostly to keep the wounded arm from falling off the edge of the bench. Clearly, Hook would be unable to resist anything Smee attempted from that point forward.

The first mate chewed his lip, indecisive. He'd had mixed results in his history with cautery. Titus was right: more often than not, it ended in serious infection, which could quickly become fatal. And it wasn't as if he could amputate in this case if gangrene developed. But if he only closed the outside skin, the internal bleeding would continue, and that couldn't be good, either.

Both pirates tensed at a ruckus outside and a pounding at the door. Someone shouted for the healer. Starkey got to his feet and readied his cutlass before pulling the door open.

The two newcomers hesitated briefly at the sight before them, but Starkey grabbed the nearest man and held his blade to his throat. He pulled him inside, and the other, leaning on the first due to a lacerated thigh, hobbled along. Starkey shoved them both toward Titus before pulling the door shut again.

"Need to get a move on, Smee," hissed the bosun.

That was apparent even without the reminder. Smee set his jaw and picked up a needle and thread, deciding to at least stop the blood from leaving the captain's body entirely, for now. If he needed to do more once they got back to the Jolly Roger, he could take his time and not worry about the threat of attack at any moment.

Hook barely flinched at the first stab of the needle, his faint grunt the only sign that he wasn't completely unconscious yet. But by the time the wound in the front was closed, he had stopped reacting. Concerned, Smee tapped his cheek, watching for any twitch of a muscle: nothing. He still drew shallow breaths, but his pulse was barely discernible.

Smee nodded at Starkey, who helped position Hook on his side. The pirate remained limp. Unconscious; no question. As Smee drizzled disinfectant on the slightly smaller hole in Hook's back, a shadow grew on the wall in front of him, and he glanced back over his shoulder. It was Titus again. Starkey had twisted around to watch the healer's approach, and he lifted his blade.

"I have it under control," Smee reported shortly.

"Yeah, looks like it," replied the healer, sarcasm barely evident in his voice. "But I have something that may help."

Starkey looked dubious. "And why do you 'ave any interest in 'elping us?"

Titus sighed. "Call it a weakness of mine. I see an injured man, I want to fix him. And…" He looked briefly to a bed in the corner before continuing. "Your captain spared my brother. I figure I owe him for that. Just don't tell Tyrian."

"Your brother?" asked Smee, quickly finishing the closure of Hook's back.

"From what I gather, he's the one responsible for the state your captain is in."

"Oh." The pieces fell into place. Then Smee wondered, "He's here? Your brother? And... okay?"

"His wound is not as severe as it appeared."

Smee snipped the thread and turned to face Titus. "Still. How is he here and patched up already? We came almost straight from his house." Smee looked Titus up and down appraisingly. "Do you have… magic?

Titus tilted his head, considering the question. Then he replied,

"Not _me_ , myself. But I was… gifted a few enchanted items relevant to my calling."

"Whatever," hissed Starkey. "Tell us how you can claim to 'elp Cap'n 'ook."

The healer held up a leather pouch, saying,

" _You'll_ be doing the helping, should you decide he's worth it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Starkey tightened his grip on his blade. "Explain."

"He will likely die due to blood loss, right? Do we all understand?"

The two pirates nodded, although Smee silently took exception to the assumption that Hook was already doomed. Titus continued,

"These items will allow you to magically transfer some of your own blood into him."

Smee blinked in surprise. He'd never heard of such a thing. "Really? Does that really work?"

"I've used it with some success," Titus confirmed. But Starkey was still scowling.

"I notice we 'ave only your word on that, matey."

"That's true," said Titus nonchalantly. Smee put the finishing touches on a bandage and settled Hook onto his back.

"Let's see," Smee demanded. Titus opened the drawstring and dumped the contents of the satchel onto Hook's torso: four wicked-looking metal spikes, one slightly longer and thicker than the rest, and a hinged golden cuff. Starkey scoffed.

"Mad, you are. We're supposed to allow those bloody _daggers_ anywhere near us? Not a chance."

"Look at him, Starkey," Smee whispered urgently. "He's barely breathing. A small chance is better than none."

"He's as likely to kill us all as save 'ook!"

That gave Smee pause. But he still requested calmly,

"Explain the procedure."

Titus picked up the larger spike. It was a bit more than seven centimeters in length, and comparable in diameter to a spindle on a spinning wheel.

"This goes in him, right about… here."

He pointed to the left side of Hook's throat, where the jugular vein was located. Then he selected one of the smaller spikes - five centimeters to the other's seven, and not quite as thick.

"This would be positioned here, in whomever decides to give up some lifeblood."

He indicated the spot on his own arm, just below the crook of his elbow.

"And the cuff?"

Titus shrugged. "Merely marks the recipient of the blood. Gives the enchantment a direction."

Smee swallowed. "Sounds reasonable to me."

"Bollocks," Starkey spat. But he studied Hook's slack features, his weakening breaths, and he sighed. Flicking the cutlass to Titus' throat, he warned, "No tricks. 'e dies - _any_ of us die - you die, along with all your mates. And your brother over there."

Titus nodded seriously. "Fair enough."

Before the bosun could change his mind, the healer hefted the gold cuff and fastened it around Hook's right wrist. It snapped shut with a solid click. Next, he lifted the big spike and dipped it in his home-brewed disinfectant, then dug his fingers into Hook's neck for a moment, pinpointing the best spot for insertion. Grimly, he pinched a fold of skin, set the tip of the spike at the base of the tent he'd created, and pushed. Hard. The metal penetrated Hook's flesh and Titus guided it upwards, nearly parallel to the skin, until he judged its position correct. Hook remained motionless.

Titus selected one of the smaller spikes and turned to the other two pirates with a look of challenge. "Who's first?"

Starkey more than met the expression with a defiant sneer of his own. "Do your worst."

Titus grabbed his tattooed left arm, and Starkey passed his cutlass to Smee.

"Up to you, matey. If 'e be telling tales, avenge us."

Smee inclined his head solemnly. Titus punched through the skin of Starkey's arm, and the pirate winced. The spike vibrated momentarily, started to glow, and then disappeared, reappearing with its mates on Hook's chest. Starkey glowered and rubbed his arm.

"What the bloody blazes was that?"

Titus met his frown apologetically. "Sometimes happens. Blood's not compatible."

"'Compatible?' Blood is blood, innit?"

"Apparently not." The healer selected another spike and turned to Smee with a raised eyebrow. The first mate held up his arm and looked away. Titus quickly placed the spike and watched it turn a scarlet hue. Smee glanced down with a grimace.

"Does that mean it's working?"

"It does," confirmed Titus. "I guess your captain is half lucky."

"Half?"

"Amount of blood he's missing, he'll need at least one more person to help him out. And I doubt you'll find a willing volunteer in here."

Starkey brandished his weapon. "Who says they 'ave to be willing?"

"The rules of the enchantment, actually. Won't work otherwise."

With that, he made to turn his attention to another patient.

"Wait," Smee called after him. "How do I know it's been long enough?"

"It's automatic. Like the failed one - it'll return to the others."

Starkey cocked his head at Smee and quietly asked,

"Feel all right, matey?"

Smee sank onto the small edge of the bench above Hook's head, nodding and holding his arm as still as he could. "What now?"

Starkey blew a quiet breath through pursed lips. "I'm open to suggestions."

Looking down at the sallow form of their captain, Smee asked,

"Do you think you'd be able to carry him back to the ship? It seems unlikely he'll be able to help."

"I can," Starkey assured him. "But that leaves our defense to you."

Smee swallowed, but nodded grimly. "Maybe we should go, then. Take all this with us, and get someone else from the crew to give their blood."

Starkey's calculating gaze landed on Titus, who was working diligently in another corner. "What say we take 'im, too? Gives anyone we come across incentive not to kill us, and 'e can make sure all this is set up properly." He waved vaguely at the enchanted items on Hook's person.

Smee assented reluctantly, knowing that he would have to be the one to guard and control their hostage until they reached the Jolly Roger. There were a lot of ways that could go wrong, particularly with the man's importance to the villagers: they'd likely be willing to go to extreme lengths to ensure Titus' safety. Stifling his imagined failures, Smee quietly prepared his dagger and met Starkey's eyes. The bosun recognized his readiness, tightened his grip on his own weapon, and then called,

"'ealer?"

Titus cast a glance in their direction, and Starkey waved him over urgently. With a visible sigh and a few words to his current patient, the healer sauntered close.

"Something amiss?"

As soon as he was close enough, Starkey lunged. He drove his fist into the healer's gut, and while the man doubled over, the bosun stepped around behind him in an instant. He pressed his blade firmly against Titus' throat and dragged him up, holding him tightly against his body. A few cries of consternation sounded from the room, and Starkey twisted his captive to face the rest of the villagers.

"'e's to accompany us on our way. Once we're off, you can 'ave your precious 'ealer back. Until then, no one follows or comes near, or 'e dies."

To emphasize the point, Starkey increased the cutlass' pressure until Titus hissed a wince. The handful of villagers that had risen to their feet sank slowly back, defeated. The bosun kept a sharp eye out as he murmured at Smee,

"Tie his 'ands."

The first mate grabbed an extra bandage from the bench as he stood. Starkey backed a step away from Titus but didn't relent at all with his cutlass. Carefully, Smee grabbed the healer's arms and forced them together behind his back, then wound the bandage tightly between and around his wrists. He tied a firm knot as the healer complained,

"I _helped_ you. Bloody pirates! You won't get away with this."

Smee ignored his protests and took Starkey's place, with Johnny Corkscrew now the threat controlling the healer. The first mate suddenly felt a twinge in his arm, and when he looked down, it was to see the embedded spike glisten and then vanish. A small globe of blood welled from the puncture wound. Smee peeked over his shoulder and saw all three smaller spikes reunited upon Hook's chest. A moment later, the larger spike removed itself from Hook's neck and joined them. Starkey snatched the lot of them up and dropped them carefully into his coat pocket, along with the captain's hook. Finally, he crouched, gathered Hook into his arms, and gingerly hefted him over one shoulder. Smee winced as the pirate captain's arms dangled behind Starkey's back, which put extra tension on the wounded shoulder. But there was nothing to be done about it.

Starkey led the way through the door. He paused to check both directions down the street; it was clear for the moment. Smee backed out behind the bosun, keeping Titus as a shield between himself and the room full of morose villagers. Once the door was closed behind them, Smee and his captive took point, with Starkey close behind. Smee was careful to check every few moments that they weren't being followed as they made their way around the corner and in the direction of the Jolly Roger.

A few blocks into their journey, they began to hear shouts up ahead, then the distinctive sound of marching feet. Starkey swore.

"Sounds like reinforcements 'ave arrived."

Smee shivered in dread. "What do we do?"

The bosun came to a stop and listened for a moment, then shook his head grimly. "Can't tell their position. There's a lot of 'em, though."

They advanced slowly, and the ruckus grew louder. Starkey cursed again and indicated a darkened doorway just ahead to their left. "In there, matey."

Hastily, the group stumbled into the abandoned building. As they waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness, Starkey bent and deposited Hook onto the ground as gently as he could.

"I'll go 'ave a look," hissed the bosun. "Keep 'em both quiet."

Smee tightened the pressure on Titus' throat as he willed himself to stop trembling. Starkey peeked out through the doorway and then slunk outside on his scouting mission. A tense silence waited his return as the moments slid by. With his free hand, Smee carefully reached out and felt Hook's chest: the captain's breathing was even and had slowed some. He still felt dangerously cool to the touch, though. Smee berated himself for not asking Starkey to throw the captain's coat over him before leaving - it was bunched on the floor nearby, but the first mate didn't trust himself to maintain control over Titus while searching through the darkness for the garment.

Finally, Starkey ducked back inside. "It's bad, Smee. There's a whole platoon of soldiers; dunno where they came from. I don't think we c'n risk carrying the captain past 'em, least not until they've dispersed a bit."

"What about the ship?"

"She'll surely be a target, but I'd wager they'll focus on clearing the streets and assisting the wounded before daring to attack. They may even 'ave a ship of their own on its way."

Smee grimaced. "What should we do, then? The captain might still die if he doesn't get more blood soon."

The bosun sighed. "I could attempt to sneak past 'em myself, without the 'indrance of dead weight and an 'ostage. I'd be more stealthy, and able to run or fight if discovered. Then I could bring back some reinforcements of our own; even a volunteer to 'elp the cap'n. What'd'you say?"

Smee thought for a moment. "Won't they search the buildings? We'll be pretty vulnerable in here without you."

"They may give a cursory check at first, but'll probably save the thorough search for later. We could conceal you and make the dwelling appear empty at a glance."

Smee certainly didn't like the idea of being so helpless. Who knew how long it would take Starkey to make it to the ship and back? And if he got caught, how long would Smee be able to wait before the soldiers found them? Would he have to abandon Hook in that case? But though he pondered frantically, he could come up with no better plan. He sent out a quick prayer to whatever deities might listen to a pirate, then agreed.

Starkey put flint to a lantern wick and kept the flame low as they observed the building's interior. The occupants lay slain on the floor, all of their meager belongings rifled through and strewn about. The only hiding place large enough to accommodate the three men was beneath the bed. Still, at first glance it would appear vacant and of no interest to the soldiers, and there was a back door if Smee did end up having to make a run for it. Without much discussion, Starkey gently carried Hook to the hiding place and slid him under, farthest away from the front door. Afterward, Smee pulled Titus over, and then forced him to his knees. Pausing, the first mate looked up at Starkey.

"Hurry," he implored. "And… bring Casey, will you?"

Starkey cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. "That scrawny thing? What the bloody 'ell for?"

Smee didn't know if their relation increased Casey's chances of having compatible blood like his own. But it was worth a try.

"He… he owes the captain a favor," Smee lied in explanation. Starkey shrugged.

"If you say so, matey."

Smee crawled under the bed, dragging Titus with him, and as Starkey blew out the lantern and disappeared through the door, the first mate settled in for a very long, very tense wait.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 **AN: Casey is Smee's son, unbeknownst to the rest of the crew, as well as Hook. Their story is explored in "Or Sleep with the Fishes."**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

He was being stabbed. In the throat. The shock and pain quickly gave way to panic, and Hook wrenched his eyes open, flailing with his hand in an attempt to strike his attacker. The movement awakened the agony in his shoulder, which was almost enough to make him forget his burning neck. Still struggling against the grip on his arm, Hook heard an unfamiliar voice hiss,

"Hold him still!"

Then Hook recognized the voice of his first mate snapping back,

"I'm trying!"

Hook's frantic gaze found Smee, who leaned closer with a reassuring expression.

"Shhh, Captain - relax. This is for your own good; I promise."

Hook winced and stopped fighting. The stranger hovering over him firmly turned Hook's face to the left and continued jamming some sharp implement into his flesh. Hook gritted his teeth and studied his unfamiliar surroundings.

They were in a darkened room, the only light from a lantern currently being held by Smee. The first mate still had his other arm across his captain's body, gripping Hook's wrist tightly. Hook himself lay on a bed, next to which also stood Casey, looking pale and a bit anxious. Hook could make out a few more shadowy figures standing guard by the door.

The villager straightened, and Hook noted Starkey holding a blade to their prisoner's back. Smee also stood, releasing Hook's wrist. Immediately, Hook reached up to cup his hand against the sting that throbbed with every beat of his heart. Smee gave him a worried look.

"Er, better not touch it, sir."

"Smee?" croaked Hook, the question obvious in his eyes. Smee stepped aside to allow Starkey and his prisoner past.

"We're… uh… sharing our blood with you," Smee explained. Hook released his neck and moved his hand to his damaged shoulder. He watched in amazement as Casey allowed a sharp metal instrument be placed into his arm. Then his gaze darkened and returned to his first mate.

"Magic?" he snarled weakly, and Smee gulped.

"E-enchanted, sir. Yes."

"It was either that or find ourselves a new captain," added Starkey lightly, in their defense. Hook glowered, but had to admit he no longer felt himself to be at death's door. He growled at a sudden blaze in his shoulder, wincing when his throat burned in sympathy. Not-A-Pirate, whom Hook was starting to recognize as the village healer from that hazy room of torture, remarked,

"He was better off unconscious."

The man's demeanor - and lack of concern when met with Hook's glare - were somehow reminiscent of someone else, but Hook couldn't be bothered to make the connection. Softly, Smee advised,

"Best lie still, sir, and try not to talk."

The first mate turned to Casey, who sat on a stool by the head of Hook's bed, now calm.

"How do you feel, Casey?" asked Smee.

The young man nodded. "Fine, sir."

Starkey prodded his captive with the flat of his blade. "'Ere, he's awake now; that mean the cap'n's out of danger?"

"It's a good sign, though I'd hardly call _any_ of you 'out of danger.'"

The healer glanced meaningfully toward the doorway. Starkey rolled his eyes.

"Then, we don't need another volunteer?" clarified Smee. "He's had enough blood?"

"You'll find out when you have to run from the soldiers, now won't you?"

Starkey grabbed his hair and spat,

"You're fast outliving your usefulness, matey. Enchantment's already underway; I 'ave no qualms 'gainst killing you."

"I thought I was your 'shield.'"

"We'd move faster without you."

"Well, in that case…"

There was a blood-red cloud, and the healer suddenly stood on the other side of the room. Instantly, all of Hook's men were on their feet, weapons drawn - even Casey, though he blinked and swayed for a moment before steadying.

"Thought you didn't 'ave magic!" exclaimed Starkey in accusation.

"I can't possibly be the first person to ever lie to you."

With a feeling of foreboding, Hook grasped the protruding metal and yanked it free of his neck, wincing slightly and feeling a rivulet of blood welling out of the puncture wound. No one seemed to notice apart from the healer, who only smirked.

The damage was likely already done, and Hook scowled fiercely, determined not to show fear. Beside Hook, Casey flinched and glanced down at his arm, where the healer's instrument had inexplicably disappeared.

"But… but you could have escaped at any time! And you still helped us!" protested Smee. "Why?"

The magical healer looked very self-satisfied as he replied,

"I wanted to be sure your captain survived."

"For what purpose?" Hook gritted out, his voice like steel being drawn across a whetstone. Titus calmly pushed the sleeve of his robes up, revealing a glowing metal cuff around his wrist.

"To protect my village."

Smee and Starkey glanced at each other, and Hook got the feeling they knew something he didn't.

"Somebody bloody well explain!"

Hook found himself up on his good elbow; his opposite shoulder protested loudly, and he hissed in pain, but his irritation and the drive to find out what was going on kept him steady. Smee noticed his captain's struggles and quickly folded the pillow so he could lie more upright. Hook did so with a grunt of pain, then pierced the first mate with his stare. Smee winced and then lifted Hook's wrist to point out the matching - although not glowing - golden cuff. Hook made a fist and jostled the accessory as he studied it.

"They're connected, I take it?"

Titus nodded confirmation. Starkey looked from one to the other.

"Lemme guess," the bosun snarled. "They 'ave nothing to do with the enchantment."

"That's right. Well, not the blood transfer, at any rate. This is entirely different."

Hook allowed his arm to drop back to his side, wearily asking,

"What does it do, exactly? Since you appear so eager to tell us…"

"It's an early warning. Any time you come within two days' journey of this…" He held up his own wrist again. "It begins to glow, and we have plenty of time to post watch, call in reinforcements, sharpen our blades… you get the idea."

"All that… for a bloody alarm?" asked Starkey. "You're mad."

"It works, doesn't it? You won't come here without your captain. And now you know we'll be lying in wait, you won't come at all."

"Who says we won't leave 'im behind? 'Specially now we know 'e's a liability."

"I think not," Titus retorted haughtily. "You've proven your loyalty tonight, by the risks you've taken to save his life."

"Perhaps I'll send them here alone to enact revenge," Hook spat.

"And risk never seeing your ship and its crew again? Doubtful."

"But why all the bother?" Smee broke in. "Why not just heal him with your magic, and sneak the cuff on then?"

Titus winked. "The backup plan. Keep you here longer and hope the king's navy gets here in time to finish you all off."

"And when I get this bloody thing off and send it to Davy Jones? What happens to your 'perfect' scheme then?"

With a snort, Titus dismissed the concern. "Good luck with that, friend. I sealed it magically - there's no longer a hinge or opening. And you don't even have the terrible option that most people would… unless you fancy a second hook."

The pirate captain restrained his fury at the taunt, instead giving a casual, one-shouldered shrug. "All you've done is condemn other villages to the fate you're attempting to avoid. Isn't that a bit… selfish, for a man on the side of good?"

"I never claimed to be that." Titus waved his hand and retrieved his enchanted spikes. "And your crew may savage, pillage, and pilfer far away from here, but I think _you'll_ encounter difficulty joining in."

Hook narrowed his eyes, itching to demand an explanation, but Titus waved cheerily and continued,

"Have fun with that cuff, Captain."

His smoke filled the room, and when it had cleared, he was gone. Starkey spewed vitriol at the empty space, while Hook just closed his eyes, battling pain and fatigue. And the night was far from over.

Casey stalked to the door to join the other two as lookouts. Smee sat carefully next to Hook and dabbed at the sluggish trickle of blood on his neck. The first mate began a timid apology.

"Sir, we didn't…"

Then Starkey stormed over. "We need to get a move on." In a more gentle tone, he addressed their captain. "Think you can walk, sir? Ship's maybe ten blocks from 'ere, and the streets are already crawling with soldiers."

Hook kept his eyes closed as he nodded. He would have to - but he didn't actually know if he'd make it that far.

"I'll stick close, just in case," Smee assured them both.

"With the five of us as escort, we oughta be able to 'old our own against small squads," Starkey mused. "We can send Jukes ahead to act as scout."

Hook reluctantly opened his eyes to nod his approval. As Starkey went to pass along the strategy to the other men, Smee unrolled a bandage he'd taken from Titus' stock and tied it in a knot behind Hook's neck, then gingerly tucked the loop around the captain's brace, forming a makeshift sling. Then he held out his hand.

"Ready, sir?"

With a groan, Hook grasped the offered hand and allowed Smee to assist him with sitting and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. The room spun for several moments, but Hook managed to resist the pull of unconsciousness. Smee waited, watching with concern. Finally, Hook borrowed Smee's strength and rose to his feet, releasing a slow, controlled breath that would otherwise have come out as a cry. The first mate kept his grip until he was sure Hook wouldn't collapse, then took a step back. From the arm of a nearby chair, Smee lifted the waiting leather coat and gingerly draped it over Hook's shoulders, fastening one button to keep it in place. His captain continued to breathe through the pain before grimacing,

"My cutlass?"

Smee didn't question Hook's ability to use said weapon, knowing it was more for peace of mind than anything. He quickly located Hook's belt and fastened it around his waist. Hook took an experimental step and winced: even that small amount of jostling sent unbearable waves of torment through his chest and shoulder.

"Coast is clear," reported Jukes.

"Ready, Cap'n?"

Hook gave a grim confirmation to Starkey, and the three others with him exited without a word. Taking a deep breath and clenching his jaw, Hook made his way to the door. The throbbing in his injured shoulder was difficult to ignore. Smee stayed close to Hook's side, ready to catch him should he lose his balance. Starkey waited until the duo exited, then brought up the rear.

The cool night air was still thick with smoke, and it carried faint but ominous sounds: shouted orders, rattling armor, booted feet. Hook flexed oddly tingling fingers before resting his hand on the hilt of his cutlass.

Up ahead, Jukes stood alert, peering around the corner for any sign of life. As the others neared, he beckoned them onward, then trotted forward himself. Casey and Ed had their weapons at the ready; they stopped at either end of the crossroads until the rest of their comrades had passed safely. Then they overtook and went back into the lead.

Hook traveled in a disconnected daze, for while he felt marginally stronger as a result of the magical blood transfusion, the pain and shock of his wound still took their toll on his stamina. It was the worst he'd had in a long while - perhaps even since the loss of his hand. He knew it could still prove fatal: infection was almost certainly inevitable, with no real proven way to prevent it, or cure it once it set in. If he managed to survive _that_ , then there would be the difficult and painful process of regaining the use of and strength in the shoulder, providing it wasn't damaged beyond repair. It was a small blessing, he supposed, that the spear had struck his bad side, leaving him the use of his only hand… although he _had_ come to rely on the hook for many things, not least of which was his own defense. Its loss would be a serious blow to his self-sufficiency.

With careful scouting and vigilance, the pirates were able to avoid detection for a good percentage of the distance, only having to hide once when a large group of soldiers crossed their path a few blocks from the harbor. Ducking down behind a merchant's stall stoked the fire in Hook's shoulder, and he clutched his elbow, cursing under his breath. Fortunately, the troops marched past, oblivious. Hook paused a moment on his knees, gathering his breath and the strength to push back to his feet. His men waited, anxious but understanding. Eventually, the thought of collapsing on his bunk with more rum to dull his pain gave him the motivation to continue on. Smee helped pull him up, and they resumed the journey.

Not long afterward, Jukes trudged back around the corner he'd rounded moments before, his demeanor somber. Casey and Ed caught up to him, and their body language also changed in response to his report: bad news. The trio retraced their steps; Hook found himself wishing they would wait where they were, if only to delay confirmation of what he suspected.

"Ship's gone," Jukes announced quietly. Hook released a slow, trembling breath. _Gone_ , not _destroyed_. "I could make out sails in the distance: they probably saw the naval ships approaching and had to flee."

"Bloody hell," sighed Hook, accompanied by more colorful invective by Starkey.

"What now, Captain?"

Hook squeezed his eyes shut as he answered. "We need to leave the village. Put as much distance as possible between us and that bloody healer."

Starkey continued for him. "When the soldiers see the Jolly Roger gone, they'll assume we went with 'er. The only way they could know we're still about would be that enchanted cuff of Titus'."

With a dejected nod, Hook confirmed his bosun's reasoning. Jukes shuffled his feet uneasily.

"But how are we to find where they've gone? And catch them up on foot?"

"We'll be reunited when Pan recalls us to Neverland," Hook reminded him, repressing a shudder at the thought. There was a moment of gloomy silence as the pirates contemplated surviving weeks or months apart from the comforts of their ship. Then Smee spoke up.

"Does anyone know the best way out of the village?"

"There's a southbound road not far from here," Casey answered. "Provided you don't think we ought to stick to the forest."

Hook didn't answer immediately; he swayed slightly on his feet, eyes still closed, looking as if he were moments from collapse. Starkey inched closer before speaking for him.

"So long as there aren't soldiers guarding the road, I think we ought to take it. It'll be easier travel, and less need to cover our trail."

"But more time out in the open," objected Jukes.

"So we travel by darkness and 'ide by day."

"Can we head in that direction?" whined Smee. "Get an idea of what we're facing; if it's even possible to take the road?"

"I'll take point this time," Casey volunteered, and began making his way down the street. Ed fell into step with Jukes.

"Come on, Captain," Smee urged gently. Hook gave a weak nod, opened his eyes, and forced himself to follow. No comfortable bunk to look forward to; no rum; just weeks of travel, scrounging for food, dodging the king's men. Endless pain. Probably fever. And his hand was still tingling.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The pirates' view of the road from behind a burned-out dwelling revealed a score of soldiers camped out at its entrance. They even had a small fire as a few slept, some watched the village, and others patrolled the forest's edge. Hook and his men would definitely have to go around.

Without discussion, the group carefully backtracked a few blocks and then headed east, following the cobblestones past sullenly quiet buildings; their occupants either dead or sleeping off the horror of the earlier attack. When they had put enough distance between themselves and the soldiers at the road, they turned their steps southward and made for the forest.

It was painfully slow going once they entered the woods. The canopy filtered much of the night's moonlight, leaving very little to guide their way. Up in front, Casey, Ed, and Jukes didn't dare use their weapons to slash at protruding vegetation, in case the noise carried. Thus, they struggled through with bare hands, holding aside any particularly bothersome obstructions for their wounded captain to pass through. Apart from the occasional quiet curse, Hook was silent as he let his crew make the decisions for once. He lacked the energy to participate, and knew he likely wasn't thinking straight anyway. He winced, suppressed a shudder, and wished again that his flask weren't empty.

They traveled until just after dawn; until Hook was certain he couldn't take another step. As the men discussed whether it was too soon to stop, Smee caught his captain's glazed expression and made the decision for all of them.

"Over here, sir," Smee coaxed gently, and Hook allowed himself to be led to a clear patch of soil beneath a tree. The first mate lifted the coat from the captain's shoulders and then helped him to sit, which he did with a grimacing grunt. "Let's take a look."

The rest of the men headed off to scout their surroundings and forage for food or water, while Smee dug fresh bandages from his satchel. He thanked the fates he'd decided to restock while at Titus' place, when he could have easily assumed there would be no need.

Hook leaned back against the tree trunk, closing exhausted eyes and shivering slightly. He wormed his hand gingerly beneath his injured arm, grateful that the tingling seemed to be abating. The cool metal of the cuff slid up his forearm until it could go no further.

Smee began to cut away the old bandage, and Hook took a sharp, pained breath. He squirmed slightly and turned his face away, never opening his eyes. With a sympathetic wince, Smee peeled away the last layer and exposed the horrific wound beneath. It was swollen, inflamed; purple and black spreading downward as the bleeding continued beneath the skin. The stitches were holding, although if the swelling continued, the injury could very well split back open. Smee drizzled some of his precious water on a cloth and very lightly touched it to the wound. The captain's jaw tightened, his brow furrowed in anguish, but he made no sound.

Smee didn't know what else to do. Even if he thought cautery might help, it was too dangerous at the moment: any noise Hook made would certainly attract the attention of the nearby soldiers, as would the smoke from a fire. Leeches could reduce the swelling, but would reduce the blood volume they had risked so much to replace, and they didn't have any anyway. Reluctantly, Smee did the only thing available to him: he rebandaged the wound, tighter than was probably comfortable for Hook but with the intention of compressing the area as much as possible. Then he gave Hook the rest of his water. When the canteen was empty, Smee shaped his satchel into a pillow and set it beside the captain.

"Rest now, sir. We'll watch for soldiers."

Hook nodded blearily, and Smee assisted him onto the ground. The first mate draped the leather coat over his captain to act as a blanket, and Hook quickly slipped into an exhausted slumber.

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Hook woke to his first mate gently nudging his arm. Disoriented, the captain attempted to swat away the nuisance, but was jolted fully awake by the lance of agony in his opposite shoulder. He snarled his displeasure through gritted teeth.

"We found a stream, sir," Smee reported as he wiggled his canteen in front of Hook's face. "Water, and some trout."

"Sod off," murmured Hook, feeling the enticing pull of sleep. Smee pursed his lips.

"I know you don't feel much like eating or drinking, but it will help you feel better."

"The hell it will."

Hook was too weak to resist when Smee pulled him up, but he managed to stifle his groan of anguish. Smee leaned him gently against the nearby tree, and he allowed his head to drop back with a grimace. The two dark bruises surrounding healing punctures on either side of his neck gave the impression that he'd narrowly avoided having his throat ripped out by a wild beast. The first mate held the canteen to Hook's lips, and the captain growled and snatched it with his own feebly trembling hand. Smee sat back as Hook drank.

When he'd had enough, Hook tossed the canteen aside spitefully, and Smee scrambled to retrieve it before the rest of its contents were wasted in the dirt. Hook blinked back his weariness and took in their camp. Ed and Starkey stood watch, while Casey and Jukes lay dozing, headwear over their eyes. From the shadows cast by the surrounding trees, Hook could estimate the time to be mid-afternoon. They were well-concealed by vegetation, and no sounds from the road reached their position.

Smee held out a kerchief containing meat; Hook's stomach rolled. Normally, raw fish would not be so unappetizing to him, even the freshwater variety. He closed his eyes and shook his head quickly.

"One piece," Smee cajoled. "It's better than it looks."

"Where's my hook?" asked the captain suddenly.

"Safe, in my pocket," Smee assured him. "And your brace is in my satchel."

The first mate selected a cube of trout and placed it gently in Hook's hand. The captain shuddered, swallowed, and then opened his eyes. Smee inclined his head encouragingly; grumbling, Hook lifted his hand. He chewed, gagging, and forced himself to swallow the meat. But when Smee tried to offer more, Hook clenched his jaw and shook his head. After a few more moments of attempted persuasion, Smee gave up and allowed Hook to lie back down. He needed rest just as much as nourishment, if he were to have a chance at enduring the evening's travels.

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At the end of another night struggling through the dark woods, the pirates found themselves nearing the village neighboring the one they'd attacked. A couple of soldiers were posted on the road, but the forest's edges were unguarded; Hook's men could easily sneak in and steal what they liked from unprotected shops. As there was still at least an hour before dawn, they split up to do just that. Smee stayed back under cover with Hook, who was still weak and slightly feverish. The first mate had assigned Casey to try and find an apothecary, giving him a list of items to search for. Hook hadn't been too thrilled at the mention of leeches, and gave his own priority for the rest of the men: rum. Or any sort of brew. Anything to take the edge off.

The men began to return with the first birdsong, each smug in their success. They brought food, liquor, coin… and leeches.

Hook picked at a piece of bread, trying not to shudder as Smee applied the disgusting creatures to his swollen shoulder. The others ate ravenously while discussing their next move.

"What if we just stay 'round here? Haunt this village whenever we need supplies?" suggested Ed. But Starkey shook his head firmly.

"They'll be on guard now. Besides, we 'ave to keep moving 'til we're beyond the range of that blasted magical warning."

Starkey gestured toward Hook, who scowled at the reminder.

"Two days' journey?" asked Casey. "Is that by ship, or on foot?"

"'ell if I know," Starkey answered. No one else had any input, either. "Then… we assume it's by ship, and keep traveling, to be safe."

The others looked at Hook, who nodded weary assent.

"And then what?" wondered Jukes. "Find somewhere to hole up 'til we end up back in bloody Neverland?"

No one had any other suggestions, and they fell silent. Finally, Hook cast aside the bread and sighed reluctantly.

"We ought to put some distance between ourselves and the village, in case they miss their bloody leeches."

"Cap'n's right," agreed Starkey. "Maybe change directions, too. Wouldn't be too 'ard to connect us with their neighbors' calamity."

Smee handed a cup of liquid to Hook, who raised an eyebrow.

"To combat fever," Smee explained quietly, looking pointedly at the discarded bread. "Is that all you're going to eat?"

"Aye," growled Hook, before tossing back Smee's concoction. He screwed his eyes shut and took shallow breaths until the urge to vomit lessened, then glowered at his first mate. Unintimidated, Smee tugged the cup from his fingers.

The others quickly packed up their supplies, and Smee helped Hook to his feet. When his coat was again draped over his shoulders, the pirates set out eastward into the forest.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"We're being followed!" hissed Casey from the back of the group. Instantly, the men had their weapons drawn as they turned to assess the danger; faint cries of discovery told of soldiers tracking their path through the trees. Starkey swore and then addressed his captain.

"I c'n circle back; maybe draw some of 'em off?"

A quick nod from Hook sent the bosun hurrying back the way they'd come. With a grimace, Hook quickly studied their surroundings. If they split off in several directions, their pursuers might follow suit… or they might focus on one trail, leaving that unlucky pirate to deal with the whole mob. They were unlikely to be successful at outrunning the well-trained and probably well-rested soldiers. Which left only one grim option.

"We'll have to make a stand, mates. Find cover; try and take them by surprise."

Nervously, the pirates scattered. The captain ducked behind a nearby trunk, Smee close on his heels. Hook painfully shed his coat, fearing it would restrict his movements. He couldn't help wishing he had the use of his hook. Smee stashed his satchel and sack of supplies against the tree's roots as he murmured,

"S-stick with me, s-sir. We'll be all right."

Hook flexed his grip on his cutlass; the damn tingling had returned with a vengeance. "Bloody hell."

The shouts were nearing. Suddenly, a commotion told of Starkey's intervention: angry yells and ringing steel meant he'd engaged at least some of the soldiers. But it was apparent that the majority still stuck determinedly to the trail.

"Onward, men! We're closing in!" came the command. Then a voice rang out from just beyond Hook's tree:

"Sir, I think-"

The scout's report was cut off by a pirate blade, and without waiting for orders, the soldiers charged - to the chagrin of their officer. Several ran right past Hook's concealed men, and were slain for their haste. Smee and Hook each dispatched a soldier on either side of their tree.

The advance slowed, the remaining soldiers chastened by the deaths of their comrades. But now they knew the pirates' positions, and even how many they were. Whispered orders accompanied the rustling of movement. Hook struggled to focus through the blaze from his shoulder.

If they had archers in their ranks, they would probably attempt to circle their hiding quarry to get within sight. But Hook didn't dare leave his cover, in case there were also archers among the main force.

"Give up, pirates!" mocked the commander. "You have no chance. If you come with us peaceably, you may yet receive my mercy."

"Is that so... how very magnanimous of you." Hook pretended to lose his balance, knocking into Smee with his good shoulder and elbow. The first mate lost his footing and fell to his knees with a whimper - right into the soldier's line of sight. No arrows flew as he scrambled back into cover: no archers, then. "Perhaps it's _you_ who should retreat. We pirate-types excel at killing soldiers."

"And deserve death yourselves," the commander spat. "A lingering, painful death, followed by an eternity of suffering in Hell."

His words were definitely covering the sounds of movement. Hook listened closely. Several pairs of feet indeed flanked them, unable to completely mask their steps among the foliage.

"Hey! Are you listening to me, pirate? Do you fear for your immortal soul?"

Thinking furiously, Hook finally allowed a tremor in his voice as he replied,

"You… you can save our souls?"

Hook could feel Smee's confusion as he watched his captain remove the sling from around his neck, a low grunt of pain accompanying the movement. As he draped the white fabric on the tip of his cutlass, Hook continued his charade.

"Please, I don't want to end up in Hades' clutches. Parley?"

He poked his makeshift white flag out beyond the trunk and waved it so the soldiers would see. Then he cautiously followed, wearing his best expression of pitiful terror.

There were less than a score of soldiers in the immediate area, including their commander. Not great odds, but better than they would be had they decided not to split their forces. Each man gripped his sword tightly, ready for any sudden move on Hook's part. The officer studied Hook disdainfully.

"If you surrender now, I will arrange for religious instruction before your hanging. But I can't guarantee it will be enough to cover a lifetime of dark deeds."

"I… I'll try anything," sniveled Hook. He lowered his cutlass, and the sling slid off the tip onto the dirt. "Come out, lads. This man of mercy is offering a chance at salvation."

His crew cautiously obeyed, each pirate looking as if he wanted to trust his captain, but secretly wondered if he'd gone off the deep end. Hook flashed a watery smile at the officer, who nodded smugly.

"Drop your weapons."

In an instant, the pirate captain's demeanor changed. His men were protected from ambush, for now; they knew what they were up against, and he trusted them to be victorious. Hook raised his blade with a cold laugh.

"Come and get them."

The commander looked baffled for a moment, then his gaze darkened. "Show 'em what we're made of, boys."

With a terrifying rush of booted feet, the soldiers charged. They were disciplined enough, wordlessly breaking into groups of two or three to take on each pirate. The largest contingent went for Hook and Smee, obviously hoping to take the fight out of the rest by dispatching their leader. Unsurprisingly, the officer hung back to observe.

Hook took care of the first two easily; they seemed to underestimate him because of his injury, and didn't put much thought or power behind their movements. But the third and fourth - and then the fifth - attacked with more caution, working in tandem to quickly overwhelm him and back him right up against the tree. At his side, Smee handled himself admirably, but could provide no further assistance beyond engaging his own attackers.

Through his gasping breaths, Hook was only dimly aware of Jukes barrelling in from the left: having dealt with his own soldiers, he was free to come to his captain's aid. With the distraction, Hook managed a lucky hit to one of the two remaining. The soldier fell, his comrade snarled... and Hook's cutlass flew from his hand.

His _completely numb_ hand.

Hook lunged sideways just in time, throwing his arm up to ward off what might otherwise have been a fatal strike. He only vaguely felt the bite of the blade as it sliced into his forearm. Then he was on his knees, disarmed; completely at the mercy of his assailant.

The soldier gave a wicked grin before kicking viciously at Hook's wounded shoulder. Hook cried out and crumpled to the ground, expecting the killing blow at any moment. But instead, the soldier joined him in the dirt, Smee's blade buried deep in his chest.

Between pounding heartbeats and hissing breaths, Hook heard Starkey snarling somewhere behind the tree. The bosun must have made it back in time to take on the would-be ambushers at their backs. The rest of Hook's men had gathered around their fallen captain, watching for further attacks that never came. Even the commander lay slain, reaching toward his village of origin, someone's dagger still protruding from his back.

Hook weakly pushed himself up to sit against the tree trunk, trembling with pain and fatigue. Smee knelt in concern.

"Captain - are you-"

Hook's rage gave him strength and he drove his hand into Smee's earnest frown, forgetting for the moment his inability to make a solid fist. Smee still toppled over backwards, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, though the impact likely did just as much damage to Hook's unsupported knuckles. But he couldn't feel it; he didn't care.

"Damn you, Smee! This is your fault! You're so _bloody_ stupid!"

Hook winced and broke off. Smee rolled onto his knees, a hand to his face and a confused look in his eyes.

"I… I don't understand, sir," slobbered Smee as a panting Starkey stalked over to join his mates. Hook again unsuccessfully tried to control his hand, and felt his throat constrict with panic and anguish. He could feel tears prickling behind his eyes: it wasn't _fair_.

Smee's dazed expression only fueled Hook's fury, and the captain struggled to his knees before clumsily launching himself at his first mate. Smee went down yet again, with Hook sprawled on top of him, forearm pressed against his throat.

"I should kill you," Hook hissed, suddenly dizzy with pain. The first mate gripped his arm with both hands as he struggled to breathe; to push away the weight. Hook breathed in a sob, grimacing.

"'Ere, what's all this, Cap'n?" Starkey interjected, dropping to his knees beside the pair. Hook only growled, his attention still on Smee's slightly bugged-out eyes. The bosun solemnly beckoned for assistance; Jukes and Casey crouched on either side of the scuffle. Between the three of them, they were able to lift a savagely cursing Hook off of his first mate. Smee wheezed, clutching his bloodstained throat, and Hook aimed his venom at the others as he struggled unsuccessfully against their grip. They settled him back against the tree, and Starkey held a hand against his chest.

"Sorry, sir, but right now, we need 'im. You decide later 'e's deserving of execution, that's your prerogative."

Casey gently helped Smee to sit up, then pulled out a handkerchief and wiped anxiously at the blood on his neck. Smee waved him off, rasping,

"I'm all right."

Panting, Hook screwed his eyes shut as his shoulder radiated agony. Still at his side, Starkey quietly addressed the other men.

"How'd we fare, gentlemen? Anyone in mortal danger?"

The pirates took stock of their injuries; miraculously, most were minor, and none life-threatening.

"Get yourselves cleaned up. Smee?"

Smee knew what Starkey was after even without him spelling it out. He pointed to Hook's tree, behind which lay his bag of healing supplies. "Over there."

Casey helpfully went to retrieve it, and the others took what they needed and went off to tend to themselves. Starkey sat heavily with a sigh, studying his agitated captain. Shooting a surreptitious wink in Smee's direction, the bosun prompted,

"Well, sir. What's Mr. Smee done this time?"

"He's a damn fool."

"That's nothing new," scoffed Starkey. "So what's the real bother?"

After a heavy silence, the captain swallowed the lump in his throat.

"My hand," Hook admitted quietly. "It's gone."

With a raised eyebrow, Starkey glanced down to where Hook's hand rested loosely on his knee. Slowly, carefully, Starkey objected,

"'Fraid I don't follow, sir. Your 'and's right there."

For the first time in the conversation, Hook opened his eyes; they flashed anger and pain at the bosun. "I can't feel it; can't move it… the bloody enchantment's taken it from me, surely as the Crocodile's blade took the other. If Smee weren't so _damn_ gullible-"

"Now 'old on a moment there, Cap'n," interrupted Starkey. "I'm as much to blame for that as 'e is. We were equals in that decision. So if 'is life is forfeit, mine ought to be as well."

Hook just stared, fight gone; all light drained from his gaze. Smee sniffed and spoke up.

"I'm so sorry, Captain. We didn't know."

As Hook sagged back against the tree, Starkey leaned closer. "May I?"

The captain didn't object, so Starkey took hold of the lifeless hand and held it up. Timidly, Smee crawled closer to take a look; Hook made no move to resume his attack, dejectedly watching the examination that he couldn't feel. Smee gently spread the fingers, noting the swollen, bleeding knuckles as he lightly ran his own fingers along the skin. There was no response from Hook. The hand felt slightly cooler to the touch than normal; Smee compared it to the arm just above the cuff, and there was a noticeable difference. Starkey was absently twirling the cuff, looking for any trace of a seam and finding none. Smee flipped Hook's hand over and traced a line across his palm; no twitch, no sign of any sensation. Just then, Smee saw the blood running down Hook's arm and dripping off his elbow.

"Can I take a look?"

Hook remained silent, but offered no resistance when Smee lifted his arm further and positioned his limp hand over his bicep to access the deep slash that diagonally intersected the ulna.

"Bring me my bag, will you, Starkey?"

The bosun complied, and when he had returned, Smee instructed him how best to position Hook's arm so Smee could reach the injury. Starkey settled himself at Hook's side, but before assuming the two-handed grip requested of him, he fished out his flask.

"Rum, sir?"

Hook gave a single shake of his head, to the surprise of both men.

He would require assistance with _everything_ , from that day forward.

He was in no hurry to accept that reality.

Hook barely flinched as Smee washed the gash; the constant torment from his shoulder and his dark emotions overshadowing the burn. His listless eyes locked on the forest beyond without really seeing it. Smee readied his trusty needle and thread, commenting,

"Maybe this wound's to blame for the hand; maybe once the inflammation goes down…"

"I lost the ability to grip my cutlass before I was cut," Hook contradicted, and Smee dropped his gaze.

"Oh." The first mate took a breath, then said, "Well, it's deep; down to the bone in places. Sorry." He held up the needle, and Hook nodded.

Starkey gripped Hook's bicep and wrist tightly, holding the arm as still as possible as Smee tended the wound. Hook closed his eyes and worked his jaw in silence.

"Maybe…" mused Starkey, hesitating. "Maybe it isn't permanent. Your 'and. Maybe once we find a way to get the damn cuff off, you'll regain its use."

Hook didn't react; apparently, he wasn't optimistic about the suggestion. More quietly, Starkey said,

"You… you know we don't mind 'elping you, aye?"

The statement caused Hook's eyes to snap open, a spark of wrath directed at the bosun's boldness. Starkey met his glare briefly, if only to assure the captain of his honest intentions, then he looked away.

"Sorry, sir."

Smee pushed the needle through once more, saying,

"Last one."

He quickly tied and tightened the knot, snipped the thread, and then selected a bandage to wrap around the wound. Hook had gone back to mindless staring, morose thoughts a million miles away. With the dressing in place, Starkey gently lowered Hook's arm.

"Maybe I should check your shoulder," mused Smee, noticing fresh blood on the bandage and not knowing whether it was from the leeches or if Hook had aggravated the wound during the fight. But the captain refused.

"We need to leave."

"Right this minute?"

When Hook didn't explain, Starkey guessed at his thought process. "Villagers'll miss the soldiers when they don't return. And soon enough, the vultures and ravens'll lead 'em straight 'ere."

"Still, it will only take a few minutes…"

"Which is a few minutes closer to the end of my strength," Hook retorted candidly. "So unless you'd enjoy carrying me…"

Smee studied him anew. His skin was pale, but his cheeks were flushed; beads of sweat gathered on his face; slight tremors wracked him in regular intervals. Smee swallowed.

"All right, sir. I'll round up the others."

The first mate stood with a groan. Starkey began to follow suit, then hesitated.

"Help up?"

Hook kept his sullen gaze averted as he nodded reluctantly. The bosun ducked under Hook's good arm and snaked a hand behind his back to grip his ribs, then stood, pulling the captain with him. While Hook caught his breath, Starkey went to fetch the discarded sling, as well as the cutlass… the one he'd be unable to use anyway. But Hook said nothing. Starkey slid the weapon into its sheath and then arranged the sling comfortably around his captain's neck.

"All right, sir?"

"Aye," lied Hook. "Move out."

Starkey gestured to the rest of the men, and they set off away from the place of slaughter.

They were more careful about covering their trail this time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Hook wouldn't willingly call a halt on his own account; Smee knew this for certain. The captain undoubtedly wanted to get his men as far from danger as possible. They were all exhausted after a whole night plus half a day of walking - not to mention the morning's battle - but they could continue for a while yet; all except Hook. He was their weakest link, and he hated that. But his steps grew less sure, his breathing more labored, as the others surreptitiously slowed their pace to match. At Hook's side, Smee debated with himself when to demand a rest.

He need not have wasted the energy fretting. Without warning, Hook doubled over and lost the meager contents of his stomach. Instinctively, Smee grabbed his arm to keep him from collapse. When the spasms had stopped, Hook straightened a bit; still hunched, his head hanging, he shivered violently. Smee cast about for any sign of shelter, and caught sight of a large pine. Its low-hanging branches would shield them from the elements and also likely mask the smoke should they decide to light a fire.

"Can you make it a little further?" coaxed Smee. "Just up ahead, and you can lie down and rest."

Hook's bloodshot eyes spied the same tree, and even in his worsening state, he must have reached the same conclusions about its usefulness. He staggered forward wordlessly. Smee caught Starkey's scrutiny and tilted his head toward their destination; the bosun indicated his understanding and went to discuss strategy with the others.

Under the shelter provided by the tree, Hook sank heavily to the ground, groaning softly. Everything ached: his skull, his spine, his joints - to say nothing of his shoulder. The nausea had settled somewhat, though the heaviness in the pit of his gut persisted. With a shudder, the pirate lowered himself onto his side, awkwardly using his lifeless hand to assist. As he curled in on himself, Smee fussed nearby: adjusting the coat, sliding a sack under his head to be a pillow, and generally trying to make his captain comfortable. The first mate brushed the back of his hand against Hook's forehead, trying to gauge the change in his temperature since the morning - a definite increase.

Smee poured some water over an extra bandage and used it to wipe away sweat, then wrapped it gently around the back of Hook's neck. The captain frowned, not enjoying the sudden cool sensation over his achiness, but he lacked the energy to complain.

"Before you sleep, sir, I should check your shoulder," murmured Smee. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled the sling from Hook's neck and then proceeded to unwrap the injury. Apart from a few winces and quiet curses, Hook lay still, compliant.

Smee allowed a slight grimace of his own when he peeled back the last linen strip and revealed the wound beneath. If the slowly-trickling leech bites had done any good, it was impossible to tell, for the soldier's well-placed kick had made things much worse. Not only was there new bruising and swelling, but the armored foot had torn several of the sutures loose, and fresh blood leaked out, along with a small amount of pus.

Smee plucked what leeches were still alive from the discarded bandages and dropped them into their jar. Then he drizzled some rum over the wound. Hook hissed at the burn, working his jaw and trying not to squirm too much. Smee apologized but kept working, grim. As he blotted at the trickle of alcohol down Hook's chest, Starkey ducked under the branches to report.

"Sent the others off in pairs to retrace our steps. We'll 'opefully get more warning next time if we're being followed."

"Good," replied Smee. Starkey knelt nearby and grimaced.

"Bloody 'ell, Cap'n; looks sore. Anything I c'n do?"

Hook merely shook his head slightly. Starkey caught Smee's eye, and the first mate licked his lips. Then he gently lay his rag over the wound.

"We'll be right back, sir. Just lie still and relax."

Hook's only response was a shivery grunt, and Smee pulled the coat up to cover his torso. Then he and Starkey quietly left the shelter and went several paces away, until Smee felt they were out of earshot. Starkey watched him in trepidation. Finally, Smee stopped and faced the bosun, saying in a low voice,

"He's developing an infection. It was almost inevitably, really. But with how bad the wound is, and how deep… it could kill him."

Starkey nodded seriously, not particularly surprised by the admission. "Is there anything to be done for 'im?"

"I… I don't know," Smee whined. "I never had training; no apprenticeship; nothing. Just what I've picked up through the years. There should be someone _qualified_ helping him; maybe then he'd stand a chance-"

Starkey stepped forward and gripped Smee's wrist in an attempt to stop the panic. Startled, Smee shut his mouth.

"No use bemoaning what we don't 'ave," hissed Starkey. "You've done all right by us so far. And if 'ook don't pull through, it won't be for lack of effort on your part." He released his grip and eased back on the intensity. "Let's try this again. What's your recommendation? Cautery?"

Smee chewed his lip, wincing when we inadvertently bit the tender area where Hook had hit him. "It… may come to that, especially if he keeps bleeding."

"But you don't think getting it over with now would be beneficial."

"It's just… whenever I've used it, it seems like it makes things worse."

Starkey scoffed. "'Things' are bad to begin with; not much chance of making it worse."

Smee found he couldn't really fault that logic. Perhaps it _would_ be best to get it over with, especially when they weren't currently hiding from definite pursuit. Maybe the heat would drive away the infection this time. Heaven knew, there wasn't much more that _would_ help.

"All right," he finally agreed, grimacing. "It _will_ be good to finally stop the bleeding under the skin. Maybe it'll help him. Or kill him."

Starkey sighed. "Either way, you and I, matey… we share the burden."

Smee glanced back in the direction of the tree. "His shoulder may never be the same. And if he can't use his hand _and_ can't use his hook…"

"'e may be better off dead," Starkey finished the thought. Smee nodded grimly. "Well, we're not there yet, Smee. On the other 'and, he could recover, re'abilitate the shoulder, and break the enchantment on his 'and. Dunno about you, but seems to me, if we wanna improve 'is odds, we think of each outcome equally. Not give too much power to whatever evil spirits control 'is destiny."

"Never knew you were such a philosopher."

"Doesn't 'urt." Starkey glanced around, then volunteered, "I'll gather firewood. You want the rest of me rum?"

Smee shuddered. "I don't know if he'll keep it down, but I guess it's worth a try."

Starkey passed Smee his flask, asking,

"We using a blade, or what?"

"Johnny Corkscrew ought to work. I'll clean it up a little."

The two men separated to begin their tasks. Smee returned to their shelter, finding Hook resting fitfully, arm positioned over his eyes. As Smee drizzled rum on his dagger and polished the blade with a clean cloth, he could see the chills that still wracked the captain periodically. Smee wished they could just let him sleep. But either way, something needed to be done about the renewed bleeding; hopefully, this would be the last intervention required.

Smee had been lucky throughout his extended life to never have an injury severe enough to need _this_. But since his first instance of applying it - on Hook's mangled wrist, before he was even a proper member of the crew - Smee had used it more than once. Always reluctantly; always with the temptation to close his eyes. Because it _hurt_. He couldn't even imagine how much.

A few minutes later, Starkey entered, carrying an armful of wood. While he worked on building a fire, Smee got all of his supplies ready, then went to Hook's side to regretfully wake him.

"Sir? We… we're going to need you to drink this, if you can."

It took a moment for the captain to respond. He looked dazed as he met Smee's eyes. But some part of him must have understood the request, for he held out his hand. Smee hesitated.

"Maybe I should…"

Then he saw Hook's fingers twitch. Not significantly, but enough to know he wasn't imagining it.

"Captain - your hand. Can you feel it?"

Hook blinked, startled, only then remembering the events of the morning. He lifted his hand in front of his eyes and watched the fingers form a clumsy fist, the pang from his swollen knuckles a counterintuitively welcome sensation after so much nothing. His gaze darted back to Smee's and he gave a small, trembling smile in reply. Smee beamed down at him, momentarily forgetting what he was about to do.

"That's fantastic, sir! What a relief. I wonder what happened? Just a fluke? Or maybe it _was_ the cut. Or a hard impact against your cutlass that also caused you to drop it..."

"Smee," rasped Hook, interrupting the first mate's nervous rambling. Smee grinned sheepishly.

"Right. Sorry."

He unscrewed the lid from Starkey's flask and surrendered it to Hook's waiting hand, making sure his grasp was strong enough before releasing it entirely. Hook confirmed its contents with a sniff before raising an eyebrow at his first mate. Smee made a sympathetic face.

"Probably not the most appetizing on an upset stomach; sorry."

He hadn't answered the unspoken question. Hook struggled to raise himself on his elbow; the fever, having sapped nearly all of his strength, made it extremely difficult. Hook studied the shelter bearily, wincing as the morning's injury protested his weight. His attention was immediately drawn to Starkey's efforts, and somehow, he put the pieces together. The remaining color drained from his face.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, and Smee cringed.

"I'm so sorry, sir, but I… _we_ think it's for the best."

Hook could feel his heart rate increase, bringing with it the cursed tingling in his hand. He swore and lifted the flask while he was still able. He barely tasted the gulp of rum, or felt its familiar burn down his esophagus. Smee nodded in approval.

"Starks says 'drink up,' sir. You need it more than he does."

Hook panted through a jolt of panic, then took another swig. His thumb twitched against the flask, and he nearly dropped it. He cursed again and then screwed his eyes shut when pain and nausea threatened to expel the rum he'd just consumed. Smee's hand hovered near the flask, ready to assist if needed.

"I'll be quick," Smee promised. "And then maybe we'll be done messing with it."

All of Hook's instincts were screaming for him to run, his rational mind unable to override the animal drive to avoid the upcoming pain at all costs. But it was moot anyway; he wouldn't get any farther than the sheltering branches before collapsing. He choked down another mouthful of rum, vaguely noticing Smee standing and moving over to the now-blazing fire. The first mate tried to hide his movements as he wrapped a wet bandage around the handle of his dagger, but Hook caught the flash of steel reflecting in the firelight, and his racing imagination filled in the rest.

Abruptly, his stomach rebelled, and Hook vomited the alcohol. Eyes watering, he coughed a few times, sniffed, and then immediately downed more. Even if it came up again, he needed to absorb as much as possible while he still could. Across the fire, Starkey watched in pity, speaking in low tones with Smee. Planning, strategizing. Hook shuddered.

The tingling gradually gave way to numbness again, and Hook finally lost his grip on the flask. It landed in the pine needles, adding to the puddle already soaking into the dirt. He hissed a miserable oath that sounded more like a whimper and dropped back onto his side to await his fate.

Starkey came over first, face somber, eyes apologetic. Even before the bosun drew back the black leather coat, the captain trembled uncontrollably. Starkey flung garment and flask aside, murmuring,

"No little splinter of wood'll keep Cap'n 'ook down for long. Eh, sir?"

"A-p-pologies, m-mate," shivered Hook, wild eyes belying his contrived bluster. Starkey cocked an eyebrow.

"For what, sir?"

"C-case I b-break your n-n-nose."

Starkey smirked. "That'd be no more than I deserve."

The bosun gently peeled back the linen stuck to Hook's shoulder, tossed it on the ground to cover the rum-saturated soil, then pulled a knife from his boot. The captain flinched back slightly, already grimacing.

"Just need to be ridda those bloody useless sutures," explained Starkey, and Hook nodded reluctantly. With careful movements, Starkey cut and plucked the remnants of those that had already come loose. Then he used the blade to sever each thread along the line of the wound. Without the extra support, the skin's tenuous attempt to begin knitting together failed, the added pressure of swelling causing the gash to split back open and leak previously-contained fluid down Hook's collarbone. Still trembling, Hook released a pained groan and tried to control his racing heart.

A short while later, Starkey pulled the last thread from the entry wound, which was now bleeding steadily. Hook panted in short, tight breaths, his face frozen in a grimace. Quickly, the bosun stepped over his captain to work on his back.

The exit wound wasn't nearly as swollen, but Smee still wanted to sear it shut and had requested the sutures be removed there as well. Starkey worked as quickly and cautiously as he could, all the while watching goosebumps ripple up and down his captain's back. Once the wound was free of stitches and bled unimpeded, Starkey loosely covered it with a handkerchief, then returned to his former position in front of Hook.

"Need ta chunder? Now's probably better'n later."

Hook gave a quick shake of his head; Starkey could see the anxious dread in his eyes and the bosun could very well sympathize. He glanced at Smee's crouched form, quipping,

"What'd'you say, sir - shall I tell that bloody oaf to bugger off with that damn stocking cap of 'is?"

Hook's barely-perceptible answering smirk didn't reach his eyes, but Starkey knew he appreciated the effort. With a grumbling sigh, the bosun said,

"Well, 'ow 'bout we get you comfortable, then?"

Somehow, the intensity of Hook's tremors increased as Starkey gently rolled him to lie flat on his back. The bosun fished his worn leather glove from a pocket, stealing another surreptitious peek at Smee: the first mate was looking back, and gave a sober nod. Starkey held the glove so Hook could see it, saying,

"Needs more 'oles; try 'arder this time, sir."

As Hook took the leather between his teeth, a tear leaked from the corner of his eye. Hyper-aware of movement by the fire, he knew Smee had stood almost before the first mate knew it himself. The captain screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to risk a glimpse of the red-hot steel headed his way.

He felt Starkey rest an elbow on his right bicep, grasp his shoulder, and pin his stump against his abdomen. His heart thundered in his chest, his short, gasping breaths not enough to keep pace. He heard Smee reach his other side; felt him place a hand directly in the center of his rapidly-heaving chest. A vague plea formed unbidden in his throat, and caught on the foul-tasting leather between his teeth. The resulting vocalization bore no resemblance to any language, and little to any sound a man might normally make.

A brief tendril of warmth was his only warning. Then the whole world stopped, just for an instant. A jolt of tension, of _wrongness_ , deep in his shoulder; shock muting any pain for precious heartbeats. He forgot how to breathe, how to _think_.

And then came the fire. Impossibly bright and searing and all-consuming. Everlasting. He was screaming before he was even aware of it; thrashing against his tormentors as his flesh scorched and bubbled. All other sensations - the rough attempts to hold him still - were like touches of a butterfly's wing in comparison to the assault on his shoulder.

Hook's muffled screams shattered into a disordered mess of cough-moans as the last swallow of rum made a reappearance, burning esophagus and windpipe alike. Violent curses seemed to leap from the flames in his shoulder, and the world tilted despite feeble struggles to control it. Between choking coughs and desperate gasps for air, his stomach convulsed again, though not much came up.

Though the scalding steel seemed permanently melded with his flesh, continuing to roast its way through him, apparently some remained. Or there existed another piece entirely… a piece that contacted his back without warning, injecting more lava and tearing renewed cries from his throat. He struggled weakly, fruitlessly; pinned in place, he couldn't escape; could only convulse in pain, alternating helpless whimpers with wracking coughs that left him gagging. Tears streamed from eyelids squeezed tight in anguish.

The thing about cautery is that even when it's over - the hot metal discarded, the skin melted into a blistered seal - the burning continues. The process takes less than a minute, but feels like an eternity, and the agony lingers. So even when Smee was finished… when he'd tossed his dagger aside and stood fighting nausea himself… Hook suffered still. As Starkey gamely continued his grip, keeping the captain on his side in case of further vomiting, Hook panted and writhed, shuddering violently. Reaching for death, because at that moment, it would have been preferable.

Smee returned with moistened bandages. He draped them over the burns as he murmured,

"It's done, Captain. It's over."

Hook cringed at the contact, then succumbed to another coughing fit. Starkey winced as he met Smee's eyes. The first mate shook his head solemnly and then added, soothingly,

"You'll be okay, sir."

The bosun snatched an extra length of wet linen and used it to clean Hook's face and neck. "Aye, you're through the worst of Smee's bloody tortures. I c'n deck 'im for ya, if you'd like."

Hook didn't respond to the attempt to lighten the mood, too busy fighting to breathe and feeling the blade still sizzling against his wound. The cool cloth had momentarily weakened the flames, but the heat within him rapidly overcame the temporary respite. He shivered a groan.

Smee and Starkey gently coaxed their captain into a more comfortable position on his side, and he lay trembling and wheezing while the bosun arranged his coat, blanketing it over him until just the shoulder remained exposed. Smee drizzled more water over the bandages as he whispered,

"I'll sit with him, Starkey. You can get some rest."

Starkey got up. "Thanks, matey. Think I'll check on the others first, though. Let 'em know we may be 'ere awhile."

"At least for tonight," Smee agreed nervously. "We'll see what tomorrow brings, but it would probably be smart to try and put more distance between us and that village."

Starkey scowled at the logic, but nodded. "Aye, too true."

The bosun left without another word. Smee turned his attention to Hook, wishing he had access to better pain relievers. Swallowing a mouthful of water, he settled himself at his captain's side. If Hook needed _anything_ , Smee was determined to provide it; there wasn't much else he could do to help.

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 **AN: It's not my intention for this story to be ableist in any way, although I suppose if there's any question, it might be crossing the line already. I have nothing but respect for anyone who has to deal with any type of challenge, be it physical, mental, or whatever else. In Hook's case, I think it's natural for him and those who care about him to grieve at first and be pessimistic about his future (especially as dramatic a person we know Hook to be!) He's essentially just living for his revenge at this point, and it would be that much harder to accomplish without the use of his hand. But I also think he would eventually overcome this adversity just as he did the loss of his left hand.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Hook woke himself with his own pained whimper. Frightfully disoriented, all he could make out when he opened his eyes were blurred smears of green and brown and gray. He was so _cold_ … all except his shoulder, which boiled with a heat so intense it had to be giving off steam. The pirate sucked in a breath; that resulted in such violent coughing that his ribs started to ache and he could swear he tasted blood. At the same time, shivers raced up his back and along his limbs.

Smee appeared with his customary expression of concern, holding a canteen. "Captain. How do you feel?"

Hook slurred a curse at his first mate. He wasn't sure if it even came out intelligibly. Disregarding it, Smee insistently held the canteen to the captain's lips.

"Let's try a bit of water, sir," he explained. "Just a sip though. It's only been an hour, at most."

Hook swallowed the liquid, and had to admit that it was soothing to his raw throat. He trembled again, his teeth chattering.

"Want to move closer to the fire? Starkey and I thought that might irritate your shoulder, but if you're cold-"

"No," Hook managed to whisper, before coughing yet again. He grimaced and tucked an arm around his ribs in an attempt to stop their jostling of his wound. Vacantly, he noted that he had regained control of his hand; only a slight tingle remained to tell of the strange malady. But with his current level of discomfort, he could not summon the mental acuity to be relieved.

Smee tentatively touched Hook's forehead, making a face at the unnatural heat radiating from his skin. "Once you manage to keep the water down, I can make a tea from some of the herbs Casey swiped this morning. It might help with the fever and stomach upset."

Each word uttered by Smee seemed extra loud in Hook's ears; loud enough to stimulate the beginning of a startle reflex at the center of his mind. The captain moaned quietly and screwed his eyes shut. Smee dabbed gently at the sweat on his face and then retreated. Hook obviously wanted to be left alone to his misery; Smee found he couldn't blame him. So he settled back to watch, hoping the water would indeed stay down. Dehydration could be just as dangerous as the blasted infection, and could kill just as easily.

The odds were stacking up against Captain Hook.

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A few hours later, near dusk, Starkey ducked into the camp. He had gotten minimal rest himself, but knew that Smee had to be equally tired.

The fire flickered listlessly, and as the bosun added fuel, he turned a questioning eye at Smee. The first mate tilted his head and shrugged; Starkey sauntered over, studying the trembling form of his captain, still in the same place he'd left him.

"He's not too lucid at the moment," murmured Smee. "Keeps calling me Liam."

Starkey winced. "Not a good sign."

Sighing, Smee passed a cup to the bosun. "Get him to drink this, if you can. Small amounts at a time."

"Aye."

"How are the others?"

"Concerned. They could 'ear the screams. But so far, no sign of pursuit."

"That's good." Smee licked his lips. "I just worry they'll bring dogs. There'll be no hiding, then."

Starkey nodded seriously. "Well, looks like rain tomorrow. May'ap it'll mask our scent."

The first mate got wearily to his feet. "Thanks for taking over. Wake me if there's any change."

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Three days of difficult travel, dragging an increasingly-unconscious Hook on a poorly-constructed litter; restless nights in between, watching him deteriorate and being powerless to stop it. At least the pirates had not encountered any other living soul, and as they made camp for another frigid night spent in the forest, they could feel better about the distance they had managed to put between themselves and their enemies.

"I don't think he'll last the night," admitted Smee softly as Starkey came to kneel beside him. The bosun scrubbed a hand down his face, studying their inert captain.

All signs of awareness had ceased days ago, and it had been hours since he'd made any sort of movement beyond shivering. The ever-present sheen of sweat glistened on too-pale skin, the fever-flush less striking than before. His breaths were shallow and quick, each accompanied by disturbing wheezing and rattling from his lungs: the cough that had started when he'd aspirated vomit had grown steadily worse, until Smee could only conclude that an entirely different infection resided there.

"He won't even swallow anymore," continued Smee wearily. "So no more teas."

"Much good as they've done 'im anyway," scoffed Starkey, and Smee sighed.

"I know we did our best, but… I can't help wondering what would have happened if we'd managed to make it back to the ship. Maybe in more familiar surroundings, not having to traipse around in the cold and damp…"

"No use thinking that way, Smee," Starkey chided. "For whatever reason, this was what was meant to 'appen. And… perhaps it be for the best. Cap sure ain't deriving much pleasure from 'is life at present."

"I just worry what will happen with Pan," Smee shuddered, and Starkey narrowed his eyes.

"Little wanker." The bosun glanced again at his ailing captain. "If… if 'e does… leave us… do you suppose Pan's magic'll still take 'im back to Neverland along with us?"

"His…" Smee lowered his voice to a respectful whisper. "His corpse, you mean?"

"Aye," Starkey winced.

"I hope so. He would hate to be deprived of a proper sailor's burial. Probably come back and haunt us 'til we did it right."

Smee's voice faltered as he realized he was likely crossing the line of decency; Hook wasn't dead yet. Starkey didn't seem to put off by the comment, though. Nodding sadly, he addressed Hook, unbothered by the fact that he wouldn't hear him.

"Don't you worry yer 'ead, sir. We'll take care of you, we will. Even if it means trekking back through this blasted forest to recover yer bones."

Smee shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, sir; count on us." Then he turned back to Starkey. "Can we not talk about this anymore? I'm not sure it's entirely proper."

Starkey shrugged. "Only trying to put 'im at ease. It's what I would want."

"I know, but-"

Without warning, a mighty blast of power ripped through their camp, snapping branches and stirring leaves and soil into a stinging whirlwind. The pirates yelled and sought cover, but there was none to be had. All six were pelted with debris as the earth shook and seemed to swallow them whole; it flipped them upside down and right side up, like dice in a cup, then spat them out roughly upon a humid shore.

Neverland.

Smee whimpered and uncurled, brushing dirt from his eyes and face as he heard his companions all struggling to catch their breaths.

"Bloody 'ell," groaned Starkey from nearby. "Some bleedin' portal. Bloody cyclone, that was."

Through vertigo, Smee located Hook, lying flat on his back some distance away. The others were clambering to their feet in an attempt to get their bearings. Starkey brushed himself off, saying,

"All right, buckos?"

Murmurs sounded in the affirmative, and Smee stumbled stiffly in the direction of Hook.

In the space between one step and the next, a figure appeared, standing haughtily over the dying pirate. Smee ground to a startled halt as the rest instinctively drew their weapons.

"P-Pan," stammered the first mate. The boy folded his arms.

"B-Bean," he mimicked with a sneer. Confused, Smee glanced at Starkey, down at Hook, and back at Pan.

"Uh… Smee," corrected Smee timidly. The boy ignored him.

"What have you done to my dear captain here?"

Smee gulped. "I… well, it was…"

Pan waved him off. "Forget it. How _does_ he put up with you?"

Starkey took a step forward, ending up beside the first mate. "I think it's plain 'e's at death's door, matey. So 'ow's about you allow us to take 'im back to the ship-"

With a flick of his wrist and a bored expression, Pan flung Starkey aside. The bosun landed with a hard grunt, the wind momentarily knocked from his lungs. Smee swallowed again.

"P-Please, sir; he's very sick. I don't think he'd be very good company right now anyway…"

Pan grinned wickedly. "G'night, Bean."

Another bout of dizziness, and the five pirates were landing heavily on the deck of the Jolly Roger. Startled cries greeted their appearance, until they were recognized and helped to their feet. Frustrated and worried, Smee left explanation duties to Starkey.

Pan wouldn't allow Hook to die… would he?

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 **AN: It is my headcanon that until they found a way to escape for good, Hook and his crew were forcibly returned to Neverland at Pan's whim, regardless of whether they were aboard ship or not. Otherwise, it doesn't make sense to me that they would keep going back for centuries, especially if Hook is being forced to do things with Pan that he would rather not do.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Liam kept refusing to pull the spear from his shoulder.

It didn't make _sense_. Killian _begged_ , close to tears. "Why do you betray me, brother?"

Liam only turned away, eyes hardened. Finally, he spat a single word, full of loathing and pain.

" _Pirate_."

Killian struggled, still pinned to the mast, unbearable pain spreading through his chest, back, and arm. But that was _nothing_ compared to the shame of Liam's reaction. His spite… his _hatred_. The worst part was, Killian knew he deserved it.

"Wait! Liam, please! Let me change; give me a second chance - I can do it, for you! I _can_!"

But Liam wouldn't turn back. He took a step forward, then another, as hot tears burned Killian's cheeks; his throat; his lungs. " _Liam!_ "

"Let him be, Captain," advised Smee. He was calmly setting fire to the end of the spear. "You're not the brother he knew. There's no going back now."

Killian howled; despair, rage, and pain creating a wail that not even he could recognize. And Liam kept walking until he fell off the edge of the plank and the mermaids took his corpse.

Sobbing, Killian beat at the flames creeping closer to his flesh. His hand combusted, skin melting like candle wax, dripping to the deck at his feet. But it didn't matter, really, because it was dead anyway. He turned his face away from the relentless blaze on the spear. Would it really make a difference, with his shoulder already in agony?

Smee held a cup to his captain's lips... a cup filled with blood. "Drink this, sir. You'll feel better."

Killian pushed him away with his skeleton hand and reached for Milah. But she stood just beyond his grasp, eyeing him coldly.

"You're not Killian. Not anymore."

"Milah," he pleaded. Smee was caressing his face; _kissing_ him; following when he tried to pull away.

"You make me sick," she spat.

"Please, love; it isn't like that; I would _never_ -"

Smee morphed into Pan, complete with disgustingly lecherous features. Killian struggled again, tears falling anew. "I… I can explain this; I-"

Pan pressed himself to Killian's side, and the pirate grimaced. Milah glowered and hissed,

"It's a good thing I never loved you."

"Milah, I don't _want_ … it's not my… I can't _stop_ him!"

Milah gave a disgusted click of her tongue and went to join the gloating form of the Crocodile at the helm.

"Get away from him, love, please! He's going to-"

"I already _have_ her heart," sneered the Dark One. "No need to steal what's already mine."

Killian reached for the dagger in his belt; the ornately decorated blade, engraved with the name _Rumplestiltskin_. He could control him with it; could call him close, close enough to reach, to plunge the blade into his rotten heart. To take back Milah; his love; his _life_.

But his skeleton hand couldn't grip the handle. The dagger fell to the ground, out of reach. Killian screamed in frustration, panic growing within him. From behind him, snuggled repulsively close, Pan snickered.

The burning spear vanished. Killian fell flat on his face, wooden planks giving way to jungle floor, and _still_ Pan snickered.

Killian sobbed. Milah and the Crocodile - they were sailing away, leaving him trapped with the demon, and she… she was disgusted by him.

His cheek ground into the dirt as tears made small clods of mud beneath him. The flames in his shoulder flared to life where it contacted the earth, and he bit his lip in a wince. He attempted to roll onto his side, seeking relief, but a stubborn weight held him down.

Pan. Pan was still there.


	11. Chapter 11

****Chapter warning: explicit content ahead.****

 **I decided to include this chapter because it provides more detail about the enchantment affecting Hook. If you would like to avoid Captain Pan non-con stuff, you can skip ahead to Chapter 12 and I will make a note of what Hook learns from Pan.**

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 **Chapter 11**

Hook felt a horribly familiar twinge, and immediately tensed. But that was the exact wrong thing to do. A moan of ecstasy sounded in his ear, and what was previously only a minor discomfort blossomed into full-on pain. He cursed wildly. Was this real?

Hook tried to breathe deeply, to _relax_ , but anything more than shallow panting sent spikes of agony through his shoulder. Every thrust from Pan drove said shoulder roughly into the soil; Hook could kill him. _Would_ kill him, one day, if he ever got the chance. The uncontrollable grunts of pain ripping from his chest excited the demon even more. Hook whimpered, screwing his eyes shut. Trying not to squirm, to tense up; to make it worse for himself.

Several agonizing moments later, Pan reached his climax, eliciting a growl of anguish and rage from the pirate. More tears escaped; a sob caught in his throat; and Pan slumped down across his back, panting, still inside him. Desperate for a distraction, Hook focused on his hand.

It wasn't a mere skeleton anymore. Not even singed. The cuff still circled his wrist, but he could form a loose fist as pins and needles assaulted his fingers. He shuddered and closed his eyes again when Pan stirred.

"Did you miss me, Captain?" whispered the demon in his ear.

"Go to Hell," croaked Hook in reply. Pan laughed and ran a finger along his earlobe.

"Where do you think you _are?_ "

Hook hissed at a lance in his shoulder and then asked,

"Are we _done_?"

Pan stretched languidly and raised himself onto his elbows, wriggling his hips just slightly and prompting a squirming gasp from the captain. With a satisfied smile, Pan stroked the back of his hand down Hook's spine, turning left at the shoulder blade and savoring the whimper that escaped when he brushed the swollen exit wound. Hook cursed him again.

"Not by a long shot, my dear. I just saved your life. You _owe_ me."

Abruptly, Pan sat up and pulled out; Hook jumped and groaned. When the boy had stood, the captain wiped his eyes and then rolled onto his side, death glare firmly in place. Pan sneered.

"Loses some of its effect when your eyes are red from crying."

"Sod off."

Hook found he had regained the strength to sit; how or when that had happened, he couldn't remember. His trousers were around his ankles, but his renewed vigor didn't extend quite far enough to struggle with clothing. So he ignored his humiliation and inspected his injured shoulder.

In the torchlight, the bruising covering most of his torso was fairly evident, as was the still-blistered cautery mark. But no trace of fever or infection remained.

"You're welcome," taunted Pan.

"You could at least give me back the use of my damn shoulder."

"What fun would _that_ be? You know I enjoy watching my pets suffer."

Hook glared. He shifted his stump to rest more comfortably on his thigh and then looked away.

"My crew?" he asked, quietly. Pan shrugged.

"Safe and sound, far as I know. They took the initiative to deliver my order - you've trained them well."

Hook couldn't even remember what it was they'd been sent to retrieve this time. He shivered, quickly glanced around for his coat, and scowled when it was nowhere to be seen. His stomach gurgled, and he sighed.

"Well if we're to be spending the evening together, be a gentleman, would you? Buy a guy a drink; perhaps some dinner?"

Pan smirked and quickly donned an expression of concern. "Oh, you've been _soooo_ ill… I think the wisest course of action would be to take it slowly for now. Nothing by mouth, 'til I'm sure you won't pass out on me again."

Seething, Hook blurted,

"You're perfectly capable of ensuring-"

"Ah ah, Captain; no outbursts, either. Wouldn't do to overexcite yourself."

Hook cursed under his breath. A wet cough followed quickly, unexpectedly, and he grimaced and tucked his hand under his arm. Pan watched smugly, saying,

"Exactly my point. I only have your best interests at heart. Which reminds me: time for your medicine."

"What the bloody hell are you on about?"

"For that nasty cough!" Pan explained, his face a picture of innocence. "Wouldn't want you to develop pneumonia."

"Thought you said 'nothing by mouth,'" Hook shot back, and Pan slapped a hand to his forehead.

"So I did! Silly me. Although… there are plenty of ways around _that_ inconvenience."

Hook didn't like where this was headed; not one bit. Pan's wicked grin only confirmed his fears. He swallowed a curse and grit out,

"Everything's a _bloody_ game to you, isn't it?"

Pan looked hurt. "I'm only trying to help you, dear."

"Like hell you are," muttered Hook softly. Pan winked and opened his hand, and a large leather pouch appeared in his grasp. Hook watched warily as the boy reached inside and pulled out a metal-tipped dart, like the ones so common to the island's inhabitants. Presumably it would be dipped in whatever Pan deemed 'medicine.'

"You trying to poison me?" snarled the pirate. Offended, Pan set the pouch on the ground and stood.

"Why would I do that? You're my special pet."

Hook quickly listed off a few of the many reasons that came to mind. "To watch me suffer. To save me at the last minute and demand more 'gratitude.' Because you're a bastard."

Pan's grin was delighted. "I'm glad you think so highly of me."

He appeared suddenly at Hook's side, and the pirate flinched. Pan grabbed his arm and pulled it toward himself, palm upward. Hook resisted briefly, if only to keep up appearances; he knew it would do no good and he'd end up taking the 'medicine' whether he liked it or not. Pan held the dart over the pirate's forearm, then paused.

"I've been meaning to ask you about this," Pan stated as he twirled the cuff with his pinkie. "New accessory?"

"Something like that," Hook replied with gritted teeth.

"Doesn't seem quite your style. Especially since you can't have a matching one on the other side."

Hook met the boy's curious gaze with a defiant scowl. "Can we just get on with the torture? The bloody cuff's not important."

Pan released his arm and stepped back petulantly. "No. Anticipation can be half the fun. And I want to know about the magic you brought to my island."

Hook dropped his stare to the cuff, deflated. Of _course_ Pan knew it was magical; of course he'd be curious. But it would just become more ammunition; a new subject for taunts; a new _game_. Send The Jolly Roger Back To The Village And See How Many They Lost Before Escaping. Figure Out What Power It Has Over Hook's Hand And Take It To Its Limits. _Hurt_ him over it.

Pan was waiting impatiently. Eventually, Hook gave in.

"I was tricked. Can't get the bloody thing off, and now I'm marked for the trickster."

"And…" Pan prompted.

"There is no bloody ' _And_.'"

"There's more to the enchantment than _that_. I can sense it. So, therefore, _And._ "

Frustrated, Hook spat,

"Damn the ' _And._ ' It can't hurt _you_ , so you don't need to bloody well know!"

Pan snorted a laugh. "No need to get agitated. I _already_ know. Just thought I'd see how much _you've_ worked out."

Hook wanted to slash the smug smirk right off the demon's face. "Enlighten me, then."

"Simple, elegant. Delicious. Wish I'd thought of it, really. It measures your heart rate. The faster your heart beats, the more the cuff interferes with the nerves in your hand. So just sitting here, you may feel normal, or just a slight tingle. But if I do _this_ …"

He appeared right in Hook's face and poked a finger viciously into his wound, grinning at the resulting yelp of pain and surprise.

"Or _this_ …"

He crouched and gripped Hook somewhat lower down, and the pirate nearly fell over backwards in his haste to scrabble away.

"Your fingers start tingling like mad and lose their strength. Anything more - fighting, running, certain _pleasurable_ activities - and you lose feeling and control completely." Pan stepped back. "Am I right?"

Hook wouldn't meet his eyes. It certainly aligned with what he had experienced so far. Pan barked a laugh.

"Pretty much takes away your ability to be a pirate! _Pirate_."

Hook looked sideways, then up through hooded eyelids. "Can you remove it, or not?"

Casually, Pan replied,

"Maybe I _could_. But I _won't._ "

Unsurprised, Hook resumed his former position, hand under his opposite arm. "May I ask why not?"

"Because it's funny!"

Hook rolled his eyes. "You really _are_ a boy, aren't you? And here I thought you just took the form of one."

Pan's grin darkened just fractionally. "Don't fret, Hook. By the time I'm done with you, you'll know just how _manly_ I can be."


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: For those who may have skipped Chapter 11, we learned that Pan cured Hook's infection but otherwise left the injury alone. He also confirmed that the cuff constantly monitors Hook's heartbeat, and the faster it gets, the more the enchantment interferes with the nerves in his hand. Fast enough, and he loses feeling and control completely. It is reversible, though; when Hook is at rest, there is only the slightest tingle in his fingers.**

 **Chapter 12**

Hook was either dead by now, or spared by Pan. Smee couldn't think of any other possible outcome. By their haphazard time-keeping aboard the Jolly Roger, it had been at least forty-eight hours since their arrival back in Neverland. The ship was in good condition, the pirates all well-rested and recovered from the Enchanted Forest excursion; now it was back to the monotony of everlasting night. At least there was rum. And someone had pilfered a mandolin, which Mason put to surprisingly good use.

Huddled against the hatch that covered the ladder to Hook's cabin, Smee cocked his head; he thought he had heard a muffled thump from below. But a bawdy joke and raucous laughter near the helm distracted the first mate, and he gave the incident no further thought. Until a quarter of an hour later, when who should come stalking up the steps but Hook himself, looking tired but alert. He had on a loose black shirt, with even more buttons undone than usual, and no vest or coat. Smee noticed that he had found his old brace; the one where the straps only came up to just above the elbow and didn't go near his shoulder. He had his hook tucked into his belt, looking casual, but also serving to immobilize the arm.

Scrambling to his feet, Smee took a step toward the captain, but he wasn't the only one to have noticed his appearance.

"Cap'n's back!" someone called, and there was a rousing cheer. Hook flashed a grin.

"Ahoy, mates! Miss me?"

Several of the crew crowded around him, wishing him well and expressing their relief to have him back. Smee inched closer until finally, he caught Hook's notice.

"Welcome back, sir," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Bloody famished," Hook growled. "Did you save any rations for me, or scoff them all yourself?"

"I'll see what I can scrounge for you, Captain," Smee promised, not even bothered by the jibe. Hook was _much_ better if he could once again concern himself with his image. As Smee sidled past in the direction of the galley, Starkey clapped Hook on his good shoulder and offered a stein of rum, which Hook accepted but held off consuming. The bosun and the first mate shared a look: the captain's hand was indeed better.

Hook listened as carefully as he was able while Starkey gave a report on the status of ship and crew. As successfully as he hid his exhaustion and pain, the truth was, he couldn't wait to retreat to his quarters. He had quickly assured himself of everyone's well-being, and trusted Starkey to manage the details. But he also wanted to reassure his worried crew of his own recovery; for morale, and to put a halt to any rumors or plots circulating. Mutiny was highly unlikely, with the overall success of their last voyage and the unusual loyalty born of so many decades together; still, it was best to be cautious. After a few more polite smiles and teasing comments to good-natured sailors, Hook casually took his leave.

Already in the Captain's Quarters, Smee put the finishing touches on a plate for Hook just as the pirate entered. Smee pulled his chair back and nodded encouragingly; Hook sauntered over and sank into it with a long, careful exhale. Wincing slightly, he shifted his arm to rest as comfortably as possible, then began to eat, forcing himself to take it slowly. Pan had not allowed much in the way of sustenance, and he knew he could make himself sick if he weren't careful.

Smee busied himself turning down the bed and making sure everything else was shipshape for the captain. He had done so already, of course, while at loose ends the past few days, but he couldn't resist his habits. Finally, he returned to Hook's side.

"You're looking so much better," Smee commented. Hook smirked ruefully.

"Near-Death _does_ tend to mitigate the handsome a bit."

"And… the hand?" Smee cringed. Hook sat back with a sigh, throwing down his fork and flexing his fingers.

"Bit of a problem, that," he admitted. "Pan so very _kindly_ expounded upon the nature of the enchantment. So long as I avoid any excitement, there's no cause for concern."

"Oh. Heh. That shouldn't be an issue." Smee's sarcasm matched the captain's own. Hook furrowed his brow.

"Indeed."

"And he can't do anything about it?"

Hook scoffed. "I did ask. Little bastard only laughed. But apparently, he saved my life, so now I'm eternally indebted to him."

The bitterness was evident in his tone. Smee swallowed uncomfortably, then mumbled,

"Sorry, sir. We… we did our best for you."

"Aye. So you did."

Taken aback by the quiet admission, Smee scratched his beard. "Uh… So… what else can I do for you, Captain? Is your shoulder okay; need me to make a sling? Or take a look at it?"

Hook grimaced, drained. "Later, Smee. For now, just see to it that I'm not disturbed while I attempt to get my bloody strength back."

"Aye-aye, sir. That sounds like an excellent idea. You can sleep for days, if you want, and I'll bring you your meals. Don't worry; I won't let a single soul in."

A slight twitch of an eyebrow betrayed Hook's amusement at Smee's enthusiasm. "See that you don't."

Smee nodded and left Hook to his own devices.

Sometimes, his first mate could be the perfect mixture of helpful and amiable; just what Hook needed to lift his spirits. But he would never tell _him_ that.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"Captain? Starkey's putting together a foraging party and he wants… can I come in?"

Hook's answering "Aye" was laced with frustration, and Smee hesitated. A low growl sounded from the cabin's interior. Timidly, Smee pushed the door open.

The captain had somehow wedged a knife into the side of his table so that the point protruded above the tabletop. Hook leaned next to it, face thunderous, drawing the cuff on his wrist carefully along the knife's tip. Smee stepped inside, the blade shifted slightly, and Hook tossed invectives at it. Biting back the instinctive admonishment for caution - which would only antagonize him further - Smee cautiously asked,

"Is it working?"

Hook turned a baleful eye on his first mate before resuming his struggle. His hook lay on the table behind him, a small amount of blood evident on its tip. On the floor next to his bed, the sling he refused to wear was crumbled into a scorned pile. Smee sighed.

"Why are you doing this?"

Between grunts of exertion, Hook snarled,

"I'm tired of these… _bloody_ pins and needles… it's worse than the damn… phantoms…"

Irritation getting the best of him, he pushed too hard against the knife. The cuff slipped off the tip, and, not for the first time that afternoon, the back of his hand grazed the blade. This time, the weapon came completely free of the wood and clattered to the floor. Expecting an outburst, Smee shrank back. But Hook merely wilted with a long, shuddering sigh, his chin dropping to his chest. In the silence that followed, Smee bent to fetch the knife, setting it gently on the tabletop next to the hook.

The first mate took hold of the cuff and noted the faint scratch marks along its surface. "Looks like it's doing _something_."

"Not enough," Hook spat bitterly. "I realize we've the benefit of time here in Neverland, but I _need_ my damn hand. I can't wait years to scratch grooves deep enough to remove it."

"Want me to give it a try? It might be easier-"

"With two hands instead of none?"

"I was going to say without the influence of rum, but yeah, what you said."

Hook cocked his head at his first mate. "You're quite bold this afternoon."

"I… sorry, sir." Smee shut his mouth and slid a finger beneath the cuff to steady it. Ignoring several bleeding nicks in Hook's skin - for now - he gripped the knife's handle and carefully worked the point along a shallow furrow in the gold. As he repeated the motion, never taking his eyes off what he was doing, he stated,

"What I was saying when I came in was that Starkey wanted to run the plan by you before they go. Who's going, what they're focusing on, that kind of thing."

"He can take who he likes," Hook replied. "I should think we've got the routine down by now. Bloody hell."

Smee winced at the new cut he'd inflicted on Hook's hand. "Sorry."

"Not as easy as it looks."

"I guess not." Smee could already empathize with Hook's frustration... and he had the benefit of two hands. He inspected his work and shook his head. "You're right; this _would_ take forever. I'm not sure it's worth the risk of stabbing yourself."

Hook glared at the cuff as if his gaze alone could saw through the metal. "Tired of playing nursemaid?"

"Never, Captain."

Hook raised an eyebrow, smirking in obvious mockery. Smee ducked his head and scratched the back of his neck. He knew it was only a defense mechanism of Hook's; the captain didn't _really_ believe Smee was of that persuasion. And even if he did, pirates were fairly open-minded about those sort of things: there may be extra teasing involved, but generally nothing physically harmful. To break the awkward silence, Smee set the knife on the table next to the hook and changed the subject.

"How's your shoulder?"

"Hurts like hell."

Hook reached for the knife, scowled at his first mate's sound of protest, and began to work the blade back into the table edge.

He was so stubborn.

With a dramatic sigh, Smee went to pick up the sling from the floor. "Maybe if you used _this_ to keep it still it wouldn't hurt as much."

The captain scoffed disdainfully and resumed his attempts to scratch the cuff. His first mate folded the sling neatly, placed it on the edge of the table just in case, and then headed toward the cabin door.

"I'll go talk to Starkey. Come and get me if you, you know, lose a finger or something."


	14. Chapter 14

**C** hapter 14

The middle of the night watch, and no relief to be had. Hook's shoulder raged with a fire unquenched by rum. With sleep out of reach, the pirate captain finally slipped into a loose shirt and grouched his way above deck: perhaps cool night air coupled with a cold water rinse would soothe.

At the top step, Hook had to practically throw himself sideways to avoid a determined Scourie, who was barreling toward the stairway, his expression grim.

"Hold hard there, mate," grimaced Hook. "You nearly had my hook in you."

"Sorry, Cap'n," panted Scourie. "Weren't watching me path in all the haste. Looking fer you, sir."

"What's happened?" Hook could immediately sense the other's agitation. Scourie jerked his head toward the port gunwale.

"Foller me, Cap'n. It be Starkey and the lot. Trouble on the island."

Hook hissed a curse and accompanied Scourie to where Foggerty leaned wearily against the railing. The pirate straightened at his captain's approach, quivering slightly in the moonlight.

"Ahoy there, Fogg," Hook greeted as he came to a halt alongside. He leaned a hip against the railing, adopting a casual stance. "If I'm not mistaken, you went ashore with the raiding party."

"Aye, sir." Foggerty glanced at his feet a moment before continuing. "I… I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, Cap'n, but… Lost Boys got 'em."

"What, _all_ of them?"

Foggerty nodded, miserable. Hook let a beat elapse before asking quietly,

"Any survivors?"

"Well, sir, that's the strange part. Last I saw… not a one had been killed. Only trussed up like a passel of turkeys."

Hook raised an eyebrow, surprised, but relieved. "To what end?"

"That I couldn't say. Though I must admit, my own escape seemed far too easy - almost as if they willed it."

"Bloody hell." Hook dropped his head back and closed his eyes. After an uneasy silence, Scourie chanced a timid,

"Sir?"

"He's toying with me, mates. Pan. He intends for me to go after them."

"So... what are you going to do?"

Hook didn't even hesitate. "Go after them, naturally." He nodded at Scourie. "Rouse the others. Tell them what's happened and collect volunteers for a rescue party."

"Aye-aye, Cap'n."

As Scourie marched below, Hook clapped a hand to Foggerty's shoulder. "You all right, Fogg? Not hurt?"

"No, sir, but…" He trailed off, and Hook waited, quizzical. "Just… sorry. That we were ambushed. I'd like to help get them back."

The captain studied the other critically, then nodded. "Understandable. All right, mate; you can lead us to where you last saw the others, though it's unlikely they'll still be there."

"Yes, sir."

At least the trek into the jungle would provide a slight distraction from his shoulder.

It wasn't long before Smee stumbled on deck, still half-muddled with sleep.

"Captain? What's this about going ashore?"

"Mister Smee, much as you could use the beauty sleep, I'm afraid it'll have to wait. We're going to retrieve the crew from the clutches of the bloody Lost Boys. Fetch my coat and cutlass, and pack us some rations."

"Y-yes, sir."

As the first mate disappeared below, Hook called after him,

"Don't bloody well forget the rum this time, Smee!"

The reply was made unintelligible by the planks muffling it. Hook winked confidently at Foggerty, who managed a tenuous smile.

"We'll get them back," Hook promised. "Despite Mister Smee's incompetence."

Several other pirates were trickling onto the deck, looking sleepy but determined. Each was armed to the teeth, carrying ample supplies; prepared for a long search on land. With one further nod at at Foggerty, Hook headed back to his cabin, intending to light a fire under his first mate.

Predictably, Smee was inside, dithering about what to include in their supplies. He barely glanced up when Hook strode in.

"Captain, do you want-"

"It doesn't bloody matter, Smee. Decide for yourself and get a move on."

"Sir, don't you think… I mean, with your hand situation, maybe Cecco should-"

"Cecco be damned," growled Hook, snatching his coat from the chair. "After what happened last time he was left in charge? You think he can be trusted to lead this expedition? Not a chance."

The captain unscrewed his hook and thrust his brace into the coat sleeve, grunting at the resulting stab in his shoulder. Smee glanced heavenward and then rushed to help Hook.

"Okay, but-"

"Smee." Hook's warning was hoarse; pained. But the first mate got the message and shut his mouth, though he still wore a disapproving scowl. When the coat was situated and the hook back in place, Hook tilted his head toward his belt, and Smee obediently assisted with that as well.

"I need you along," Hook informed him in a tone that discouraged argument. "Some of the men may be injured."

Smee nodded. "I have my supplies ready, Captain."

The belt cinched tight, the cutlass reassuring at his hip, Hook examined the supplies strewn all across his table. He waved his hand carelessly.

"Bring the lot."

Smee looked dubious. "Your satchel will be awfully heavy, sir."

Hook winked cruelly. "Good thing I've a sturdy first mate to carry it, then."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The greatest number of men Hook could spare would still be vastly outnumbered by Pan's Lost Boys. But hopefully they could put up enough of a fight that someone would be able to sneak in and release the captives, and that would even the odds a bit… assuming any of them were in a state capable of combat. Still. Hook couldn't leave the Jolly Roger undefended. He just wished he knew Pan's motives, if he had any beyond merely exploiting Hook's current condition.

Unconsciously, Hook alternately clenched and relaxed his fist as the rowboat neared shore; a new habit that did very little to relieve the maddening prickle in his fingers. Still pondering Pan's intentions, the pirate scowled darkly. Part of their arrangement included the promise of no interference by the Lost Boys whenever the crew went ashore to forage. Of course, Hook had never deluded himself that the demon was one to play by the rules. On his island - his Neverland - Pan could do as he pleased, and no one could stop him.

Once ashore, Foggerty took the lead, and the hike through the jungle was blessedly uneventful. So it wasn't a ploy to get the pirates ashore only to have the beasts finish them off. Like most everything on Neverland, the wild creatures obeyed Pan's wishes; if he were simply out to kill them, he had infinite means at his disposal. This was apparently something else.

Up ahead, Foggerty and a few others drew their weapons with a discordant melody that put the rest on high alert. Hook caught sight of three Lost Boys among the trees: not attacking, just waiting. Watching. When two pirates moved to engage, the boys retreated, keeping out of reach but still within sight. Hook waved his men onward, and as they passed, the Lost Boys fell into step behind, trailing an escort.

Not long after, Hook recognized the area they were approaching: it was a large, inexplicable clearing littered with giant, dome-shaped boulders. A good place to snare rabbits and the like, Hook's men had taken to calling it by the oh-so-clever designation "The Tits." It was hardly surprising that Starkey's foraging party had included the place in their itinerary.

The first boulder had just come into view when Foggerty dropped back to allow Hook to catch up. He pointed to their position and explained,

"We got about this far before we was ambushed, Cap'n. Reckon we oughter scope out The Tits ter begin with?"

"Aye," Hook affirmed grimly. The Lost Boys tailing them watched impassively as the pirates left the sheltering trees and rounded the rock to get a better view of the entire clearing.

Pan was there. So were the captured pirates, each tied with his arms hugging a boulder; each with a Lost Boy holding a blade menacingly close. Nearest stood Starkey, who merited both Felix and Rufio as guards. The bosun greeted his captain with a jaunty smirk.

"Ahoy there, Cap'n. Come to join the party, 'ave you?"

Hook stopped a cautious distance from the scene, tucking his thumb casually into his belt. "Starkey, mate; I thought I told you to get your fill of this-" He gestured vaguely at the ropes before returning his hand to his belt. "-while in the Enchanted Forest."

"Oh believe me, sir, I _did_ ask. Seems none of the wenches are keen on creativity."

Hook smirked, relieved to find his men unharmed and in good enough spirits for banter. "Kind of the boulders to oblige, then."

Tired of being ignored, Pan sauntered between Hook and Starkey. "We've been waiting, Hook. I thought I would have to start offing your men before you finally dragged yourself out of bed."

Hook huffed a humorless laugh. "Very bad form, killling a man in the midst of… petrophilia?" He raised an eyebrow at Starkey, who managed a baffled shrug at the made-up term. Hook dropped the nonchalance, his demeanor hardening. "Seems a lot of trouble to bring me here, demon. Did I miss our regularly scheduled exploitation? Apologies; my calendar is several decades out of date."

"That's not it," Pan said, then sneered. "Although you really should get a new one. I expect punctuality in my whores."

Hook bristled, rage jolting heat through him, sending a flush to his face and instant tension to his limbs. Ignoring the roar of blood in his ears and glittering stars in his vision, Hook forced a breath, releasing it slowly before grasping an attitude of indifference. His voice was only slightly tight as he replied,

"I can hardly blame you for finding me so irresistible; most everyone does. But next time you feel yourself so desperate for my company, do us all a favor and come drag me away yourself. No need to involve everyone on the bloody island."

Pan's carnal leer as he very deliberately ran his gaze up and down Hook's body caused a shudder of both fury and revulsion to grip the pirate, and he winced at the inevitable throb in his shoulder. Pan licked his lips before replying,

"That's not what I'm after; at least, not yet."

"Then what is it?" snapped Hook in irritation.

"I want to see you in action," Pan explained, then grinned cruelly. "If it can even be called that anymore, with your new handicap and all. Let's see how well you fare against my Lost Boys… and how many men you lose when you can no longer fight for them. How far they're willing to go for _you_ when they see how pathetic you've become."

Hook's venomous glower could only pass harmlessly through the gloating imp. The pirate forced several steady breaths in an attempt to slow his heart rate. Finally, he began a reasoned plea through clenched teeth. "Pan-"

With a snap of the demon's fingers, the Lost Boys immediately moved in to attack. Cursing, Hook drew his cutlass and stormed to Starkey's side, dodging blades and arrows as he went. A quick shower of sparks as steel met rock, and Starkey's sword arm was free. Hook blocked blows from both Felix and Rufio. The tingling in his hand already fast approached numbness, and he released a frustrated yell. Beside him, Starkey held a dagger; apparently, the Lost Boys hadn't thoroughly searched for weapons beyond the removal of the obvious cutlass.

The bosun didn't even bother to free himself completely; instead, he used the length of rope dangling from his wrist to trip Rufio, then cut off his airway by wrapping it around the Lost Boy's neck. Leaving Hook with only Felix to dispatch. Which wouldn't normally be such a problem. But…

Hook's grip lasted for only two more parries, then his cutlass arced away. It clattered against the boulder, sounding a death knell. Seconds later, Hook joined his blade in the dirt, the blow to his face still echoing round his skull. The jarring impact set his shoulder ablaze, and pain stole his breath away. He barely felt Felix's sword pressed against his throat, lost as he was in the haze of anguish that radiated with every beat of his heart.

Pan noticed, though, and at his shrill whistle, his Lost Boys obediently disengaged. A few of the pirates moved to press their advantage, but halted when Pan called out,

"And just like that, it's over." He sauntered toward the panting Hook. "Disappointing. You didn't even last a full minute, Captain."

Hook scowled murderously, helpless to act on the silent threat. Felix pressed fractionally harder with his weapon, reveling in his victory so apparent to all. Standing nearby, casually working the rope from his wrist, Starkey asked,

"Well, you 'ave 'im - what now? We all know you won't kill 'im."

"Do you, though?" Pan retorted. In a flash, he had elbowed Felix out of the way and taken possession of the sword, which dug painfully into the base of Hook's throat. The pirate reached up to wrestle back the pressure, but had not yet regained control of his hand, and all he managed to do was to slide his palm uselessly along the flat of the blade. Pan sneered, then turned his attention back to Starkey.

"Any one of you could take his place, you know." His gaze fell on Smee, and he smirked. "Well, _almost_ anyone. I couldn't claim to _enjoy_ it quite as much, but you've all got the parts that I need."

"Finish it, then, if that's your aim," Hook choked out.

"Not yet," replied Pan. "First comes the next part of the game. If you'll remember what I said earlier: now that your crew have seen how weak their captain is, will they even bother to help you?" The boy turned to address the rest of the pirates. "You have until the moon touches the western horizon to find your captain. If you fail, I kill him."

With that, Pan and Hook both disappeared, and the Lost Boys began dispersing, leaving the pirates to free their comrades and create a plan of attack.

Pan could say what he liked; Hook's crew would not abandon him. Whether they would find him in time was another matter entirely…


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

There was a part of Hook that hoped his men wouldn't come. Not because he wanted to die, although his quest for vengeance - his reason for living - was looking even more unlikely now with the cursed enchantment hampering him. Not even because of the utterly humiliating circumstances in which they would find him. It may be the first time some of them would see him naked, but it wasn't as if he had anything to be ashamed of. No, the reason he didn't want to be found was because he feared for their safety. This was obviously a trap, and his men would enter willingly in their haste to set him free.

With a grimace, Hook shifted slightly; his discomfort persisted. He was in a vast, drafty cave, locked inside a tiny cage that didn't even allow full extension of his legs. Worse, the wooden structure sat right on the edge of a dizzying precipice. Hook had seen the depth of the drop-off while Pan was stripping him, shoving him into the cage, and tying his wrist tightly to its bamboo skeleton - there were torches then, their ruddy glow only extending so far into the chasm before being swallowed by shadow. Now, Pan and his fires were gone; the only light just the barest hint of blue at the cave entrance. But the pirate dared not lean against that side of the cage, lest his weight somehow send it toppling over the edge.

Setting his feet, knees bent, Hook scooted himself a little farther to his right. His hand was stuck between two bars near the top of the cage, the rope tied tightly above the cuff, which dug painfully into his forearm. If he really made an effort, he could bend his wrist just enough to slide his thumb back inside, and he was hoping to eventually work the cloth gag out of his mouth. This, too, was tied agonizingly tight, and he wasn't optimistic about removing it, but he had to try.

His left arm was free; a subtle way of taunting his helplessness, no doubt. Even if he _could_ lift it - if his shoulder weren't so damaged and completely useless - he would be able to do very little with the scarred remains of his wrist. Thus, his elbow rested against his hip, the shoulder twinging sharply with each small movement as he sought a more comfortable position.

Some ridiculous amount of time later - maybe an hour? - Hook slumped sideways in defeat. All he had accomplished with his effort was to give himself a sore wrist and thumb, and chafed cheek. He just didn't have the leverage or range of motion to pull the cloth from between his teeth, or even slide it significantly up over his head or down around his neck. He was frustrated, cold, sore… he just wanted the ordeal over, whatever form that ending took.

The pirate closed his eyes and rested his head against the wooden bars. His next idea was to try and stretch his face toward the knot securing his hand, and hope that he could still bite down hard enough to grip the rope. But it was a major long shot. For one thing, the knot was above the hand, tied in the upper corner of the cage, and it would be difficult to position his head at the proper angle to even reach it. The strain would undoubtedly hurt his shoulder, too. Hook couldn't just untie the knot at his wrist; Pan had been clever and anchored both ends of the rope at the cage corner, with Hook's hand tied in the middle. A crosswise bar just above his wrist prevented him from reaching his hand up that far, and the cuff made it impossible to force any more of his arm out through the bars. The _only_ way of freeing himself would have to involve his mouth.

He came close to drifting off several times, but at each instance, a stabbing pain in his shoulder would jerk him awake. Grumbling, he shifted uncomfortably, aching to stretch his cramping knees and spine.

It only grew worse as the minutes - and then hours - ticked by. Two short-lived, agonizing attempts to reach the knots above his head put a very definite end to that hope. All he could do was wait, absolutely helpless, trying not to think of the only other option left to him. Falling would put an end to his misery… but he had to think of his crew. Not only would one of them have to become Pan's new toy, but the demon would probably also use Hook's death as an excuse to torment the pirates as punishment. Even though they would have had nothing to do with it; even though Pan _himself_ was the instigator. Logic never applied to Pan's actions. So, for the sake of his crew, Hook buried his face against his forearm, counting heartbeats, longing for release.

When the first muffled voices sounded from the cave entrance, Hook thought he had imagined them. But then they grew louder, and he opened his eyes and pulled himself up as much as he could. They were definitely men's voices, reasoned and determined; not wild and harsh like the Lost Boys'. Pulse quickening, Hook clenched his jaw and willed the pirates to pass by, or, if they did enter, to wait for Pan to return. It would not be as simple as crossing the narrow stone bridge and cutting Hook free; it _couldn't_ be.

Light flared in the entrance, and in walked Foggerty and several others. Their exclamations upon discovering their captain sounded unnaturally muted to Hook, increasing his dread. The pirates drew their weapons and cast about for any sign of Pan or the Lost Boys, but there was only Hook. Leaving Casey and Scourie to guard their backs, the others headed toward the bridge. Frantically, Hook tried waving them back, shouting a muffled, unintelligible warning. But they misinterpreted his cries as pleas for help, and it only served to hasten their crossing.

A terrible, vibrating rumble sounded from the rock bridge. It jolted the whole cave, causing Hook's cage to shimmy backwards a bit as he clung to the bar in panic. His men released frightened yells as the ground beneath their feet began to crumble; some lurched toward Hook, others back the way they'd come. Scourie lunged forward to grasp the outstretched hand of Ed, hoping to pull him back onto solid ground.

But none of them made it.

The stone bridge disintegrated into the void, taking every last man with it. Their horrified final screams mingled with Hook's wail of despair, echoing around the vast chamber for far longer than naturally possible. Tears of rage scorched the captain's cheeks; he struggled and kicked, howling his fury and grief. Casey appeared frozen in shock, staring at the chasm, features slack, his torch quivering.

Hook bellowed once more and then went limp. The renewed pain in his shoulder could not come close to the guilt that now wracked his every gasp. More than half a dozen men. Gone, in an instant… _because of him_. He had half a mind to push himself backward; to join them in the darkness. Surely even Pan wouldn't require _more_ suffering after such a loss?

Before he could seriously consider either option, the demon himself appeared, leaning casually against the cage door. It slid backwards another handful of centimeters, and Pan straightened with an insincere,

"Whoops!"

Hook lunged toward him, not caring about the futility of the action. He snarled obscured curses at the boy, shaking with wrath. Pan watched from a step away with an infuriating grin of amusement on his evil features.

"I understand there was a bit of an accident in here. My condolences, Captain."

Hook glared and panted as he strained against his confinement. Pan snorted a laugh.

"Honestly, you're probably better off without them. It took _all_ of them to come across to free you? I was expecting two or three at the most. Then again, pirates aren't known for their brain power." He adopted a sarcastically sad expression. "At least you can remember them by their loyalty."

Angry energy spent, Hook collapsed forward against the cage door. His breaths made wet whistling sounds as he panted past the gag. He didn't even flinch when Pan reached inside to stroke his hair.

"There there, Captain. It's okay to be angry. After all, they were only here because of _you._ "

The demon's echoing of Hook's thoughts should have reassured him. If that was how Pan wanted him to feel, he should feel the opposite, if only to spite him. But it wasn't that simple. There was truth to it, despite the logical knowledge that there was nothing he could have done to prevent any of this; even the whole situation with the cuff was beyond his control. The simple fact remained: those men would still be alive if they had not been trying to rescue him.

Pan worked his fingers into Hook's hair and then tugged firmly, dragging the pirate's head back and forcing him to face him. Hook's glower of hatred was tempered somewhat by the pain and guilt in his eyes. Nostrils flaring, he worked his jaw until Pan smirked and released his hold. The boy glanced back to the still-shaken Casey before stating,

"Technically, I suppose they _did_ find you. So… game over. Let me know how it works out for you, Captain. I don't imagine what's left of your crew will be too happy with _this_ result."

The demon snapped his fingers, there was an instant of dizziness, and Hook's cage winked from its platform over to the cave entrance. Pan appeared nearby with the pirate's clothing in hand.

"You'll need these, I think."

He carelessly tossed the garments at the cage, and they draped haphazardly over the edge. Then the boy was gone.

Grimly shaking himself out of his daze, Casey leaned his torch against the rock wall, then used his cutlass to hack away the ropes securing Hook's wrist. With his hand free, the captain immediately set to work on the gag while Casey cut the door open.

Hook's tired and partially-numb fingers were struggling to loosen the cloth behind his head; Casey hesitated, then quietly asked,

"Can I help you, sir?"

Closing his eyes, the captain nodded once before ducking his head to allow Casey access. The younger man made quick work of the knot, and as the fabric finally slipped out from beneath his teeth, Hook spat, licked his lips, and scrubbed his hand over his mouth. Then he awkwardly crawled out of the cage, clutching his stump against his navel. Casey was already grasping Hook's shirt, but he bent to offer his hand to the captain.

Hook groaned as he stood, his joints and spine crackling audibly as he stretched. Casey held his shirt open, mournful gaze edging toward the chasm that had swallowed his crewmates. The captain carefully slid his stump into its sleeve, tugged the fabric the rest of the way up to his injured shoulder, then located the other sleeve with his good arm. Meanwhile, Casey retrieved Hook's trousers, noting his wincing.

"You all right, Captain?"

"Aye, mate."

There was nothing else to be said. Both still reeling from what they'd witnessed, both experiencing some amount of guilt, for different reasons… no amount of platitudes could ease their raw emotions.

Clothed, but with bare feet, Hook waved off the offering of his vest. Instead, he set his jaw and turned to face the void. A few stiff steps took him to the edge; he stopped just before the ground fell away, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. After a moment, Casey came to join him in the silent tribute.

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Hook and Casey met up with the other search party not long after exiting the cave-turned-tomb. The captain gave his difficult report to a stunned audience before they all hiked back to the beach in a melancholy fog.

Their crimson flag was lowered to half-mast, voices subdued, all merrymaking curtailed. They had no bodies to put to rest - Hook forbade any recovery efforts, fearing that the supernatural powers of the cave would claim more lives in the attempt. So they selected a personal belonging of each man lost and surrendered the token to the sea as memorial.

No one blamed Hook more than he himself. Most cursed Pan - appropriately so - while some questioned their own roles and what they could have done differently.

But none of it would bring back their seven missing comrades.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Are you _sure_ about this, Captain?"

Sitting stiffly in a chair, fist on his table, Hook nodded darkly, his jaw clenching with pent-up rage. Beside him, a weary-looking Starkey stood clutching a wet rag and a ladle over a bucket of water, which rested on a second chair at Hook's knee. Shivering slightly in anticipation, Smee continued to hesitate.

"It just seems like a _really_ bad idea. The chances of-"

"Those men are dead because of me. Because of my _helplessness._ So damn the odds; just get on with it. That's an _order_."

Smee swallowed. "Yes, sir."

The captain glanced over at Starkey, who indicated his readiness; Hook then rested the side of his forearm on the edge of the bucket so that his fist and the cuff hung over the water. The bosun bent and wrapped the rag around Hook's hand, tucking its edges beneath the gold to form a thin barrier over the skin. With the excess cloth, Starkey pinched the cuff's edges between forefinger and thumb, holding it steady against the inside of Hook's wrist. The captain, meanwhile, flexed the joint to pull his hand as far from the metal as possible. Then both men turned their gazes upon Smee.

Steeling himself, Smee gripped the handle of his dagger and removed it from the fire. Just the same as that ghastly afternoon less than a fortnight ago, Johnny Corkscrew's blade glowed a dark red as it radiated heat. The first mate strode quickly over to the table, checking once more the resolve in his captain's eyes before pressing the dagger carefully against the protruding cuff.

Hook felt the heat immediately despite their precautions. Starkey slowly drizzled water from the ladle onto the thumbward edge of the cuff and along the inside of his wrist, where the bosun still gripped the metal. He did his best not to spill any on the dagger or where it contacted the gold; cooling that area would defeat the purpose. Smee grimly held the steel in place, his other hand wrapping around Hook's forearm of its own accord. He could feel the muscles there trembling as Hook struggled to remain still.

Hook tried to focus on his breathing and keeping his heart rate down as the heat escalated from uncomfortable to painful. He could feel the skin on the back of his hand and arm beginning to burn, the rag not offering much insulation against the blistering temperature of the steel. Beneath the cuff, he was more protected, but the gold was slowly heating as well; he hoped desperately that it would soon be enough to start melting away.

Starkey tipped the last of the ladle's contents over his captain's wrist, and in the seconds it took to refill, Hook's pain surged exponentially. His arm twitched in the instinctive attempt to escape as he let out a growl. Nervously, Smee jerked backward; Johnny Corkscrew glowed menacingly in the low light of the cabin. With a grimace, Starkey poured soothing water over the blazing skin before dipping the ladle once again.

" _Continue,"_ hissed Hook. The prickles in his fingers intensified with the quickening of his pulse. Smee reluctantly resumed his grip and brought the dagger back to its former position; the film of water that had gathered on the cuff sizzled quietly as it evaporated away. Hook's hand and arm seared with continued fire. Through his labored panting, he started to smell melting fabric… singed hair… roasting flesh. It quickly became too much to bear, and he wrenched out of the others' grasping hands. Even as he grunted in pain, Hook managed to find the hook where it lay on his lap, thrusting it desperately between cuff and flesh and yanking on the warmed metal.

The cuff wouldn't budge. His mutilated shoulder screamed at the attempt to pull with his hook, and he thrashed wildly in frustrated agony. Starkey gently caught his hand, then his brace, and deftly separated the two.

"Yer only 'urting yerself, Cap'n," he explained over Hook's pained gasps. Scorning reason, Hook shoved his now-bleeding arm back at Smee.

" _Again_ ," he snarled. The first mate gulped, looking nauseated. At his hesitation, Hook lashed out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him closer with a menacing glower. Smee sagged in surrender, and, grimacing, Hook slammed his wrist back over the edge of the bucket. Starkey resumed his position and adjusted the rag, his face donning an expression of sorrow. Hook's fist trembled with fatigue and pain.

Flinching, Smee once again touched the now-cooling steel to the hated cuff. For several heartbeats, Hook bore the pain in silence. Then, with astonishing control, he mumbled through clenched teeth,

"Any difference?"

Smee cautiously pressed the dagger's tip against the gold, searching for any sign of pliability. Regretfully, he admitted,

"I… don't think so, sir. Not enough to free you, at any rate."

Hook swore colorfully, offering no resistance when Starkey guided his hand into the bucket and dunked it under the water. The cuff gave off a hiss of steam as it contacted the cool liquid. Smee straightened, relieved that Hook appeared to be giving up on the idea, but also empathizing with his frustration. The captain took the safety and well-being of his crew very seriously, and to lose so many, all at once, while he was powerless to help…

Hook relaxed his hand, swirling it gently through the bucket, seeking what miniscule amount of soothing the water could bring. Sweat trickled down his temples as his wincing breaths finally started to slow. Starkey shifted a lantern closer and gingerly began to unwrap the rag from his captain's hand, grimacing sympathetically at a low grunt from Hook when he neared the cuff. All along both edges, where hand met wrist and again farther up his arm, angry blisters had bubbled up… with the fabric fused right into the scorched skin. The bosun grasped Hook's hand and raised it from the water to allow a better examination; without the cooling water, the anguish from the burns was magnified, and Hook bit back a cry.

"Bloody 'ell, sir; seems a lot of trouble for body art. Inventive, though."

"Fetching, don't you think?" groaned Hook, wishing the banter were a bit more effective at dulling his pain.

Smee had dropped Johnny Corkscrew into a separate bucket of water and now stepped closer to investigate. He bit his lip at the gruesome sight.

"Sorry, Captain; I wish you hadn't insisted on continuing."

"What do we do?" Starkey asked bluntly, allowing Hook to return his hand to the water while they discussed their next move.

"Well we can't _leave_ it like that," replied Smee, resigned. "I'll have to cut it away, I suppose." Avoiding his captain's gaze, Smee mumbled, "I'll make a poultice for when it's done."

He scurried away, and Starkey settled himself on the tabletop, scrubbing both hands over his face in exhaustion. He took a swig of rum and then offered his flask to Hook, who hesitated momentarily before trading the comfort of the water for the numbing influence of alcohol. The saturated rag dangled down his arm, spilling water everywhere. As Hook took a drink, Starkey sighed.

"Yer not to blame, sir. Had you both 'ands, or eight like some damn kraken, you couldn't'a changed fate. If anything, _I_ should be 'eld accountable, as leader of the bloody 'scursion. Shoulda 'ad my guard up the moment we 'eard those blasted Lost Boys."

Staring sullenly at the drink in his hand, Hook wouldn't concede the point. He took another long pull of rum and returned the flask to his bosun before gingerly submerging his blazing wrist. Starkey secured the lid and slipped it into his pocket, then both men sat in silence for several moments, lost in dark thoughts. When Smee reentered the cabin, it was to find captain and bosun far from the present moment, and it took awhile for them to remember the task at hand.

Starkey shook himself and got to his feet. "Table?"

Smee blinked before working out his train of thought. "Oh. Yes, that would probably be easiest."

Hook understood, too, and reluctantly lifted his arm to rest on the tabletop, his palm flat. Starkey dragged the bucket-laden chair a few feet out of the way and positioned himself at Hook's right side. The captain flashed him an appraising look.

"Again, mate? This is starting to become a habit of yours; one might suspect ulterior motives."

With a wink, Starkey took hold of Hook's elbow and forearm. "I can't speak for Smee, Cap'n, but I relish the privilege anytime I'm allowed to 'old yer 'and."

Hook's answering smirk was laden with tension; his sharp gaze following Smee's every move. The first mate turned to the others, mumbling,

"I… think… I mean, anytime you don't, you know, _kill_ me for what I have to… er, 'privilege?' More like, 'honor,' you mean, right Starkey? Heh."

Starkey rolled his eyes and met Hook's glance; then, with a groan, he sneered at Smee. "Quit while yer ahead, matey. Leave the repartee to the quick-witted."

Smee grimaced, grasping his dagger and nodding in resignation. He edged between Starkey and the table, adjusted the lantern to his liking, and gently gathered the free end of the rag until it just barely pulled at Hook's tender skin. The captain closed his eyes and turned his face away, leaning back in the chair.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, trying to brace himself for the upcoming agony.

Smee worked quickly, slicing into the blisters; working the blade beneath the melted fabric as Hook's fingers clawed at the table top. Inch by agonizing inch, the first mate cut the rag away, while the captain panted and groaned and squirmed.

And then he had to repeat the process _above_ the cuff.

Tense moments later, Smee could finally slide the cloth free, exposing a mess of raw, oozing burns and slowly bleeding scrapes from the hook's tip. The poultice he hastened to apply was cool and soothing, and soon after, Hook was able to relax and open his eyes.

"Lift?" Smee requested; Starkey helped to elevate the arm so that Smee could begin winding a bandage around the wrist and under the cuff. Hook shifted in his chair, swallowed, and hoarsely growled,

"Gods, Smee; I questioned whether I'd have a hand left at all the way you were going at it."

"Sorry, Captain; how's it feel now?"

"Improved," Hook admitted as Smee looped the bandage around his thumb. He eyed the cuff; only a small warp in its curve gave any indication of the attempts to melt it off. He hissed a curse at its durability.

Smee tied the bandage neatly, and Starkey released his grip with a quick slap to Hook's shoulder. The captain nodded his thanks at the bosun.

"Go get some rest, mate. We need you at full strength."

"Aye-aye, sir. And if I may be so bold… you could do with the same." Starkey waved vaguely at Hook's arm, which was now resting gingerly on the table. "Sorry this didn't work as planned. Pity, that."

"Aye," Hook agreed stiffly, and Starkey took his leave.

"Can I get you anything, sir?" wondered Smee. Hook gave one silent shake of his head. "How about your boots? Want them off?"

Irritably, Hook sighed, knowing it was beyond his capability at present. "Oh, go on, then."

Smee complied quickly. "You know, sir… it may be part of the enchantment. That we can't get it off, I mean. Maybe the magic makes that impossible, at least by normal means."

Eyes closed, Hook grimaced. "Is that supposed to appease me in some way? Because if it is, it's not working."

Tucking both boots neatly under the table, Smee stood. "No, sorry. I was just thinking… hoping, I guess… that it would stop these dangerous schemes of yours. What's next; a hammer and anvil?"

"Smee, you don't have to convince _me_ to protect this hand. I'm not bloody daft."

The first mate sighed in relief. "Good. That's good."

"It may simply require magical means, as you suggested."

"Oh. R-right. Magic."

Hook opened his eyes and smirked at his first mate. "Remind me, next time we're sent to the Enchanted Forest, to seek out a wizard of some sort. They're always quite eager to provide gratuitous assistance."

Nervously, Smee chewed the inside of his lip. "O-of course, sir. Wizards."

"Or a witch. We must keep our options open."

"Yes, Captain," Smee agreed with an anxious titter.

Because magic had always been _so_ beneficial to the crew of the Jolly Roger... and their captain.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"I've been thinking, Captain."

In the week following Pan's deadly 'game,' Smee had done a lot of soul-searching; both alone and, secretly, with Casey. As the sole survivor of the doomed search party, the young man had taken the loss hard, burdened with guilt plus the trauma of having directly witnessed their deaths. Smee did his best to bring comfort, though often as not, ended up without the proper words. But it was during one of these late-night mind wanderings, while watching his son sleep, that an idea had struck the first mate regarding Hook's dilemma, and he had finally gathered the courage to share it with his captain.

Leaning casually against a tree trunk, grimacing as he worked the feeling back into his fingers after a not-so-friendly encounter with Lost Boys, Hook gave his first mate a haughty smirk.

"Have you now? Careful, mate; don't overexert yourself."

Occasionally, inexplicably, the process occurred with severe stabs of pain all throughout his hand, tormenting the pirate for several long moments before normalcy was restored. This appeared to be one of those times. Smee hesitated, watching the captain shake his hand with a wince. Then the first mate fortified his resolve and continued his train of thought.

"Sir… if the enchantment gets stronger when your heart beats faster… maybe it gets weaker when it slows down."

Impatiently, Hook snarled,

"Your point?"

"Well, maybe if it slowed down _enough_ … maybe the cuff would be removable."

"Bit of a flaw in your reasoning, mate," growled Hook, still in obvious discomfort. "Damn thing isn't exactly falling off of a morning. I'd say a slumbering heart beats slowest; wouldn't you agree?"

"Well… yes… but I'm sure it speeds up a bit even before you wake up. Maybe if I were to keep watch one night…"

"Smee." Hook raised a mocking eyebrow. "Are you inviting yourself into my bed?"

"Gods, no, Captain… not that I… I mean, no offense; I just meant I would sit _nearby_ while you slept. And if _that_ didn't work, well... maybe, meditation?"

The captain snorted derisively. But then a thoughtful look crossed his features. He pushed off the tree, holding out his hand, and nodded toward where his cutlass lay on the ground. Smee bent to retrieve the weapon, and as he passed it to his captain, Hook murmured,

"Mister Smee, you may be onto something after all. Not the meditation rubbish, of course."

Smee cocked his head curiously. "Then… what?"

Hook slid the cutlass into its scabbard, hand apparently feeling better. "Not what. Who."

"W-who? Sir?"

Hook leaned forward with a sly wink. "Tiger Lily."

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Neverland's most secretive inhabitant was not difficult to find - if she _wanted_ to be found, that is. All one had to do was trespass onto what she considered to be "her" corner of the island. Then, she would either show herself… or strike you with one of her blowdarts. Merely sedative, or fatally toxic; one never knew which she would use. And the pirates were hardly on her list of allies.

Still, she must have been in an amiable mood when Hook and Smee encroached on her territory, for she refrained from attacking. A short distance from the informal border, she appeared to them suddenly, a closed look on her face.

"Captain Hook," she hissed. "I thought you knew by now - pirates aren't welcome here."

With his most polite smile, Hook spread his arms to the best of his ability, showing honest intentions. "Come now, Tiger Lily. We've known each other quite awhile; I had hoped we'd established a bit of mutual respect."

The former fairy - that's who she was, although she never broadcast it, _especially_ not to pirates - refused to be taken in by his charm.

"What do you want, Hook?"

His grin fell slightly, and a hint of an edge crept into his voice.

"A deal," he admitted. "Something to benefit us both."

"What could you possibly have that might interest me?"

The pirate sighed, forcing a brighter smile. "You know that _he_ sends us to the Enchanted Forest from time to time; surely-"

"There's nothing I want from _there_ ," she spat.

"Let's not be hasty, love; perhaps if you were to consider-"

"No," she interrupted firmly. "Unless you can take me along and conveniently forget to bring me back."

Hook rubbed his chin with his thumb. "I… somehow doubt Pan would allow that."

"Goodbye, Captain."

Desperately, Hook lurched after her, nearly tripping over the foliage in his haste. "Wait! I… what if…"

She seemed amused by his stammering: she halted, half-turning and folding her arms, expectant. Hook stopped and regained his composure, running his hand down his face while he thought furiously. Finally, he sighed.

"Look, I know you value your solitude. I'll order my men never to come here; we'll leave you alone from now on."

"That's only useful to me if I don't have to worry about Lost Boys either."

Biting back a protest, Hook watched her eyes. She wouldn't back down; this he already knew. With an internal groan, he said,

"I'll see what I can do about that. No promises."

Her lips curled into the smallest of smiles. " _And_ you take me with you when you leave this place for good."

Hook scoffed. "There's no current scheme to that effect, darling; you may not want to count on it as your only option."

"I know you. You won't give up until you find a way. If I'm still here, promise to take me with you."

There was no harm in that; not that Hook could see. He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "You have my word, love."

She dropped her arms to her sides, unable to hide her smug sense of triumph as she studied him up and down. "What do you want from _me_?"

His gaze darted sideways, evasive. Uncomfortable. "I require your… botanical expertise."

Tiger Lily flashed a knowing smile. "Got a rash?"

Indignant, Hook sputtered,

"No, I bloody well do not, and I resent the implication."

"You _are_ a pirate."

"With standards!"

He realized then how petulant he sounded. Tiger Lily was winding him up for her own amusement, and he was playing right into her hands. He turned his exasperation into his best leer, hooded eyelids and all.

"Although you're welcome to take a gander."

She rolled her eyes. "The _real_ concern, then."

Hook held up his hand; with his sleeve already unbuttoned, it slid down his forearm, exposing the golden cuff around his wrist. "I need to be rid of this. Your concoctions may be the only solution."

Tiger Lily tilted her head in curiosity. She moved confidently forward, not concerned in the slightest that she could be in any danger. Running her fingers over the metal, she noted the bandages covering the burns underneath. She poked at the linen casually; Hook gritted his teeth but didn't draw back.

"Careful," he hissed without rancor. She twirled the cuff, murmuring,

"Tell me."

So the captain filled her in on the story - how he had fallen victim to the enchantment, how it affected him, and Smee's idea for how it might be removed. The fairy glanced at Smee for the first time, fixing him with an appraising stare. Then she released Hook's wrist and stepped back.

"Does this have something to do with how you lost all those men?"

Hook clenched his jaw in sorrow and annoyance. "Heard about that, did you?"

"Pan was quick to gloat."

"I'm sure he was." Hook didn't answer the original question, choosing instead to glare silently; making it obvious that he had no wish to discuss the sore subject. Tiger Lily relented, eventually.

"I may be able to help you. Assuming the cuff really _will_ come off when your heart slows… or stops."

Hook read her intentions in her eyes. She was warning him that it could be fatal… but not threatening to _make_ it so. "Aye, love. All I can ask."

She nodded decisively. "Then go talk to Pan. I will meet you back here after you secure me my solitude."

Hook pursed his lips, still doubtful he could provide such a thing. But he offered his hand to seal the deal.

"I look forward to your ministrations," he smirked.

She shook his hand, but said,

"You _really_ shouldn't, though."

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 **AN: I couldn't find Tiger Lily in the character list... anyone know how to add her?**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The interior of Tiger Lily's cave was cold and impersonal; aloof in a way that mimicked the fairy's own demeanor. Hook understood the need for solitude, but even he required the occasional social interaction to keep himself centered. Could she really be content with so lonely an existence?

"This is likely to kill you." Tiger Lily held a dart in front of a torch, examining the sinister yellow substance coating its sharp tip.

"That's precisely the point," Hook shot back, his eyes drawn irresistibly toward the instrument as the former fairy tilted it in an almost sultry way. The small knot of anxiety in his gut swelled with each sparkle off the metal tip.

Tiger Lily appraised the captain through a sideways, hooded glance. Hook's jaw worked as he glared back steadily.

"Clearly," was her response. "But I feel it's worth the reminder. There's no guarantee I'll be able to revive you."

"I've prepared for that eventuality," Hook told her, managing to keep his tone calm, almost bored. "Mister Smee has instructions for how to proceed."

The fairy's gaze flickered to the first mate, who shrank back against the cave wall in an attempt to meld with the rock. She flashed a fleeting, derisive grin, then returned her focus to the dart. "Even if I can bring you back, the toxin will still be circulating; it stays in your system for a long time. You'll be sick for days; weeks, even."

"Bloody hell, Tiger; you won't change my resolve with your warnings. If you lack the fortitude to carry out your end of the bargain, kindly admit it, and I'll seek assistance elsewhere."

"It's unwise to antagonize the one holding your life in her hands, Captain," Tiger Lily warned, though she looked more amused than upset. With a suggestive smirk, Hook replied,

"Just say the word, and I'll be happy to make it up to you, love."

The fairy eyed him critically for a moment, then returned to her examination of the dart. " _After_ I stop your heart and bring you back… we'll talk."

Tongue in the corner of his mouth, fingers prickling intensely, Hook raised an eyebrow. He heard Smee shift and clear his throat softly behind him. All business again, the captain growled,

"Then let's get on with it."

Tiger Lily slunk closer, lithe as a cat, her expressive eyes capturing Hook's with a look of dangerous intrigue. The fist containing the dart passed directly between their locked gaze as she raised it toward Hook's neck, stopping centimeters from his skin. He couldn't help flinching back slightly, heart suddenly racing in fear. But he stood his ground, his resolve strengthened by the predictable numbness of his hand.

The fairy held his gaze for a long moment, watching him swallow through a dry throat; watching his chest heave as he panted through his anxiety. Then she lowered her hand.

"Not yet."

Hook's scowl burned into her, and he inched forward until their bodies all but pressed together. " _Do it_."

Tiger Lily sidestepped, nonchalant. "I may not have mentioned, Hook: I need you weak. Empty. Body and soul receptive."

"What the bloody hell are you on about?" growled Hook, watching her as she moved away. His frustration grew when the habitual urge to form a fist was thwarted by the enchantment at his wrist. Stopping beside her stash of medicinal plants, she carefully set aside the dart as she explained,

"No food for three days; no water for twenty four hours before. I want you clear of any toxins that may interact with mine. We'll get a more powerful response at both ends of the process." She shrugged casually. "And it will have the added bonus of preventing you from choking on your own vomit."

Hook stole a glance at his first mate, who was nodding as if it were the most sensible thing he had ever heard. The captain rolled his eyes, apprehension fading into mere annoyance. "Fine. But keep in mind, Pan only upholds his end of the deal as long as _I'm_ still alive. So it'll do you no good to poison me with your bloody potions and the like."

"Oh, Captain," she purred. "That isn't in the plan at all. I will say that some of the _preparation_ won't be fun for you… but the only thing I'll give you that is capable of killing you is the one you approached me about in the first place." Her grin was downright viperous, sending a strange shiver of dread-lust down Hook's spine. "You can trust me."

Hook released a wry huff through his crooked sneer. He spread his arms boldly, radiating fearlessness. "Do your worst, witch."

And Tiger Lily smiled.

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 **AN: Not that it matters in the slightest, because it's not even close to the same situation, but I just wanted to mention that I wrote most of this before season 7 started and the whole "poisoned heart" storyline began. So any vague similarities are unintentional.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"MisserSmee! Mate! Come t'check on your ol'Cap'n, have you? Well done."

Smee slunk further into the cave, apprehensive about what he would find. Hook sounded… off. And as the first mate's eyes adjusted to the darkness - well, _darker_ darkness - he could see that the captain _looked_ off, too. He was slumped back against the stone wall, legs crossed at the ankles, scratching idly at the cuff with his hook, which rested on his lap. His eyes were glazed, pupils dilated, and he donned a disarming smile as Smee approached.

"Where've you been?" slurred Hook, with effort. "You're missing all th'fun."

Smee spared a glance at Tiger Lily, who was settled calmly at the other end of the cave, sharpening arrowheads.

"I… went to update Starkey on the plan. Remember? We didn't want him to worry, sir."

"Starkey? Bloody brilliant bosun, 'e is." Hook snickered at his unintentional alliteration, then blinked and squinted up at his first mate. "Did you 'appen't'bring any pr'visions, mate? I'm bloody rav'nous."

Smee fidgeted, hoping Tiger Lily would intervene, but she seemed content to allow Smee to deal with the captain. "Uh, sorry, sir… you're on… restricted rations for now."

"Bloody'ell," Hook groaned loudly. "Thought _I_ was th'captain round 'ere."

"Tell you what…" Smee began placatingly. "When this is over, we'll have a huge feast. NeverBeast, all sorts of fruit-"

"No coc'nut," Hook demanded.

"'Course not. No coconut."

"But plenty of rum."

"As much rum as you can stomach, Captain."

A silly grin split Hook's features; Smee's heart twinged at his excitement over such a simple pleasure.

"You're my fav'rite, mate. 'Ave I ever said?"

Smee rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "What… what about Starkey?"

Hook tilted his head, blinking. "Starkey? 'E's my fav'rite, dammit."

"And Mullins?"

"Mullins! I bloody love Mullins! 'E's my fav'rite."

Smee couldn't help a chuckle, despite his concern. Hook was _never_ like this, not even at his drunkest. Sure, rum loosened his tongue and amplified his bravado, and he might be more effusive in his compliments to the fairer sex, but with Smee it was always the opposite. His orders became sharper; his taunts more biting. He'd be mortified at his behavior were he currently in his right mind. Smee controlled his giggles and turned to Tiger Lily.

"What did you give him? Any chance you spared some for me?"

Tiger Lily replied with a sober stare. "Trust me; you _don't_ want to try this. You'll see."

That sounded ominous. Smee heard Hook shifting behind him and turned back. The captain was struggling to get to his feet, wincing dramatically whenever he moved his wounded shoulder, but unable to comprehend that he should probably not be putting weight on it. Tiger Lily clicked her tongue and raised her voice, speaking very clearly and slowly.

"What did we talk about earlier, Hook? Stay where you are, or you'll hurt yourself."

Just then, Hook's hand slipped out from under him and he toppled sideways. He mumbled a few choice invectives, peppered with the occasional "witch" for good measure. Smee crouched and gently dragged his captain upright.

"Was there something you wanted, sir? What can I help you with?"

"I w's'only attempting t'hug you, mate. Y'look so soft."

Embarrassed, Smee sat back on his heels and cleared his throat. "Uh… I… guess I am, Captain. Big… big bones, you see."

Hook snorted, thoughts clearly headed in a different direction. But then he added,

"Sorry f'r hurting y'r feelings. I don't… feel quite like m'self."

The captain reached a wobbly hand for his first mate, aiming for the shoulder but ending up at sternum height. Awkwardly, Smee patted the hand as it tapped his belly.

"Th… that's okay, sir. I know you don't know what you're saying. But… maybe you should stop talking now. Save your strength."

"Think I'drath'r go back t'th'ship, now, Smee. Could you 'elp me?" Hook grimaced and lowered his voice. "That witch's trying t'murder me."

Before Smee could remind Hook why he needed to stay in the cave, Tiger Lily got to her feet, moving confidently in the dim light as she asked,

"Is it really 'murder' if you asked me to do it to you?"

Hook's unfocused eyes sloppily followed her movements before returning to Smee. "Mental, she is. Why w'd I say a damn fool thing like that?"

"She… she's helping you, sir, remember-"

"Time for another dose, Captain," Tiger Lily broke in.

"Bloody'ell," whined Hook, having spotted the dart she now gripped in her fingers. He drew his legs in, curling into ball against the cave wall. "I've 'ad enough; giv'it't'Smee this time."

"Wouldn't do him any good," Tiger Lily said. "This is all for you."

Hook squeezed his eyes shut, looking miserable. The fairy crouched beside the pirates and grabbed Hook's wrist, easily overcoming his weak resistance and pulling his arm out straight. She shoved his sleeve back, revealing at least three older puncture marks freckling his forearm.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Smee wondered quietly. She side-eyed him, retorting,

"You're asking this _now?_ "

Without waiting for a reply - or making any attempt at assuaging Smee's doubts - she struck, stabbing the dart into Hook's flesh and then removing it, all in one swift movement. Like a snake bite. The pirate captain winced slightly, and when she released his wrist, he used the side of his hook to comfort the sting.

Tiger Lily got up, emotionless. "I'm going out. Watch over him."

Smee scrambled to his feet, sputtering in consternation. The fairy set a deep, empty basin nearby, as well as a bucket of water. Hook studied both items in confusion, deciding eventually that cursing in their general direction was the safest reaction. Tiger Lily ignored his rambling.

"He can have as much water as he wants. Try to get him to drink at least _some_." She snatched up her overcoat and draped it over a shoulder. "Sweating, vomiting, and lethargy are normal; high fever or convulsions are not."

Smee followed her to the cave entrance. "W-wait; when will you be back?"

"When I'm back."

"What if… what if…"

"Nothing to eat, remember. Only water. And I'll brew him a tea when I return."

Tiger Lily vanished effortlessly into the night; Smee stood helpless, still spewing objections. Then, with a grunt of displeasure, he stomped back into the cave.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Smee had _just_ fallen asleep. Or it felt that way, at least. He had only allowed himself to close his eyes when Hook seemed finished with the latest round of retching and had drifted into a sweaty slumber. But now…

"Smee! Look't this! Wake th'bloody'ell up, mate."

Smee stirred, groaning. The captain sounded okay; or, what passed for 'okay' the past few hours, anyway. If it wasn't an emergency, Smee found himself reluctant to leave his dreams.

Hook fell silent for a moment, and Smee relaxed past the edge of dozing again. But then he heard a startling thump, and felt fingers gripping his ankle. Smee rolled quickly to his back, heart fluttering wildly.

"Gods, Captain; you scared me!"

Resting on his elbows, hand still outstretched, Hook panted with his mouth open, clearly in pain but not knowing how to fix it. Smee sat up with a sigh.

"Let's get you off that shoulder."

"Dunno what I'd do without you," slurred Hook, whining slightly when Smee dragged him up and settled him back against the wall. He tucked his brace against his abdomen, wincing. "Damn thi'shoulder."

"Couldn't you sleep?" asked Smee, hoping to prompt his captain into verbalizing his needs so they could both rest.

"I wanted t'show you something," said Hook blankly. Smee glanced around the cave; Tiger Lily was still nowhere to be found. He was beginning to see why she had so abruptly abandoned them.

"You can show me in the morning," tried the first mate. Hook scoffed bitterly.

"It's nev'r morning in Neverland. Never. Neverland…" He smirked before continuing. "'Cuz it's always night."

"I know that, sir. But we have to sleep _sometime_. And the moon is low and the birds are quiet now; so, time to sleep."

"Bloody birds. How d'they know when t'sleep?"

Smee closed his eyes, seeking patience. "I don't know. Instinct, I suppose."

"Smee." Hook wiped at sweat that was stinging his face. "I made something. F'r Milah. I want t'show _you_ 'cuz I can't bloody well show _her._ "

Smee's heart sank, and he swallowed involuntarily. "Oh. I… I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know. What… what is it?"

"I…"

Hook made a face, held up a finger, and then lunged for the nearby basin. Smee sat in sympathetic silence as the captain heaved nothing into the vessel.

"Bloody'ell." Hook's voice echoed, muted within the basin. Then he set it aside, a little shakily, and flashed a dopey grin at Smee. His bloodshot eyes roamed the cave until he remembered his purpose, and they dropped to the dirt beside his thigh. He waved his hand over some unsteady lines traced there. "'Ave a look."

Smee inched closer, squinting. "Riiiiiiight…"

The first mate couldn't make any sense of the pattern. It seemed to be a distorted 'V' shape, intersected by two parallel lines, with a smaller, inverted 'V' on top. Surrounding the design were swirls and some sort of oval.

"Very nice, sir. I… I'm sure Milah would like it."

Hook cocked his head and stared vacantly at Smee. "You don'get it. 'Sallright, mate. You c'n just say it."

"I'm… sure that if there were more… _light_ in here…"

Shaking his head - slowly, because that made the cave go black and stars dance in front of his face for a moment - Hook hissed a disappointed sigh. "Smee… William Smee. Did y'know 'William' contains th'name 'Liam?' An' th'n if you jumble th'letters in 'Liam' and add a bloody 'H,' you c'n make Milah?" He blinked, eyes widening as if startled by his own discovery. "Bloody'ell."

"You're… you're right, Captain. That's… ironic?"

Smee wriggled backwards, about to reach for the ladle to offer his captain some water, but Hook lurched forward and snagged his sleeve.

"Wait, William. Per'aps this'll explain things."

Hook released Smee and lowered his own arm to his lap. It took him a couple of tries to slip the point of his hook beneath his own sleeve, but once he had, he exposed his forearm. Smee bared his teeth, startled at the shallow red lines carved painstakingly into the skin. Up on his knees, the first mate took hold of Hook's hand so he could see better.

"What did you do, sir?"

Hook carefully raised his brace, using the steel to gesture. "'S a draft; those're guidelines, mate. See? Th'bloody Dark One dagger. A heart. Dark magic."

Smee followed the hook's tip with his gaze as the design came together in his mind. The simple ' _Milah_ ' already inked into his skin, now surrounded by the circumstances of her death. "For a tattoo?"

Hook's expression, spaced as it was, darkened; became sharper somehow. "Aye."

Smee nodded. "Now that you know what the dagger looks like, you'll always have it as a reminder. Motivation. Oh, Captain…"

The first mate had met Milah only briefly; the meeting had been far from cordial as she only wanted to drag information from him regarding his magic bean. But despite not having witnessed her death, Smee always pitied Hook for his loss, and admired his devotion to her, even after all these decades. Even while drugged out of his mind.

"It's… perfect, sir. A fitting tribute. Although I _do_ wish you had limited your sketches to the dirt."

Hook scoffed. "Doesn't ' _urt_ , Smee. 'Sonly little scratches. I'm quite 'andy wi'this thing."

His attempt at a teasing wink only resulted in both eyes blinking simultaneously.

"So you are, sir. I guess it makes sense; that way, if the dirt gets scuffed over, you'll still remember your idea."

Scowling down at his arm, the captain tapped the cuff with his hook. "I 'ave to wait 'til this bloody thing's gone, though. Gets in th'way of th'dagger's tip."

Smee saw that, indeed, the scratched-on dagger extended underneath the gold. "Well, that's what all of this is for, sir. Keep it as a reminder when it gets hard. Maybe you'll be less likely to change your mind. Unless you _want_ to, of course."

Hook seemed to have lost the train of thought. He pierced Smee with a confused stare until the first mate grinned sheepishly and waved his hand.

"Don't worry about it. So… maybe you should have a drink and get back to bed? Tiger Lily said-"

"I'm lucky to'ave you as my firs' mate, mate." Smirking, Hook continued, "You're my bes' mate, an' I'd be all alone without you."

Touched, Smee responded with a soft smile; in all likelihood, it was the drugs talking, making Hook immensely more sentimental than normal. But… maybe there was a kernel of truth in the words. Smee liked to think so, anyway.

"Me too, sir. Even when you wake me up in the middle of the night."

This time, Smee made sure to confiscate the hook from his grumbling captain before either of them attempted sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"Up, Captain."

Groaning, Hook discovered he was suddenly lucid again… and not too happy about it. Tiger Lily gripped his upper arm, pulling firmly; Smee had a hand behind his back, ready to assist. Every inch of him aching, the captain reached for his face, intending to rub at bleary eyes, but the fairy caught his hand. Hook groaned again.

"Day Two," Tiger Lily stated, as if that explained everything. "On your feet, now."

The two others soon had him standing, reluctant and wobbly, and immediately, Tiger Lily began leading him by the hand toward the cave exit. Smee followed close behind. Hook staggered the first few steps before regaining his balance. When he was more steady, he irritably pushed away the fairy's grip.

"Where the bloody hell are we going?"

His throat felt raw, almost burned; he remembered then a miserable amount of vomiting, or at least retching once his stomach was empty. Not much else from the day before, beyond the pain and sickness. That would explain the remarkable soreness of the muscles in his core.

"Some of the herbs I gave you yesterday caused you to sweat excessively - one way of removing toxins from your body. Now it's time to scrub it all away."

The trio trekked through the moonlit jungle; Tiger Lily set a brisk pace that soon had both pirates puffing with exertion.

"Well if we're to bathe together, let me suggest we leave Mister Smee behind. He does tend to kill the mood a bit."

Hook couldn't decide if the raspiness of his voice added to or detracted from the innuendo. Tiger Lily gave no indication that she'd even heard the comment.

Not long afterward, the trees gave way to a beautiful, green-ringed pool. A perfect reflection of the full moon gave the impression that one could enter the water and find oneself floating amongst the stars. The trio halted on the shore and Tiger Lily turned briskly toward Hook.

"Strip," she commanded. Hook raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"Ladies first, love."

But the former fairy had no intention of playing along. She waded out fully clothed until the water came up to her waist, casting shivery ripples that waved the night sky like a flag. Deflated, Hook released a sigh and kicked off his boots. Smee knelt to pull off his socks as Hook worked on the buttons of his shirt.

"No crocodiles, I take it?" asked the captain, only half jesting.

"Not since last week," Tiger Lily smirked. "Want to know why I'm not afraid?"

"Why's that, then?"

The fairy watched Smee gingerly work the shirt from Hook's shoulders before answering.

"I hear they're partial to the taste of pirate flesh. I should be perfectly safe."

Hook sneered back at her. She gestured for them to hurry, and with a dramatic eye roll, Hook reached down to undo his belt and trousers. In no time at all, he stood bare at the water's edge, leering at the obvious appreciation in the fairy's eyes. As he began to wade out to meet her, he teased,

"I may have forgotten to mention: I'm irresistible. No need to be ashamed, lass; yours is quite the common reaction."

When he reached her side, Hook struck a casual pose: head tilted, bottom lip between his teeth, eyes narrowed provocatively. Tiger Lily lifted a hand, water droplets sparkling as they cascaded off her wrist… and she tapped the brace, businesslike.

"This too."

Seduction forgotten, Hook glowered in startled indignation. "Only a scant few have dared speak to me so boldly and lived to tell the tale."

Tiger Lily folded her arms. "We're doing things my way, Hook. You're welcome to leave if you don't like it."

She met his challenging glare for a long moment, not backing down in the slightest. Finally, Hook slowly reached across his torso to work on the buckles, eyes never leaving hers; daring her to comment or judge him on his deformity. He slid the brace off, turned slightly, and tossed it to Smee, who still waited awkwardly at the water's edge. Then, with his stump resting stiffly against his abdomen, Hook brazenly faced Tiger Lily.

The fairy didn't even take an instant to satisfy any curiosity she might have. Instead, she stalked around behind him, pulling a small wooden box and some sort of rough stone from a pouch slung across her shoulder. As she vanished from view, she called over to Smee,

"You may as well wash his clothing. Make yourself useful."

Hook felt her hand on his good shoulder.

"Dunk yourself under; get your skin wet."

He complied stiffly. The water temperature was actually not bad; he would have preferred slightly warmer for his sore muscles, but it wasn't cold enough to trigger goosebumps, even when he rose back to his feet and stood glistening in the night air. A slight sting drew his attention to his right arm; his quick examination left him momentarily confused… until he made sense of the scratches, dredging up vague memories of the previous evening's near-hallucinatory creativity.

Bringing him back to the present, Tiger Lily spread some sort of paste onto the back of his neck and upper spine, then used her rock to scrub vigorously at his skin. Just roughly enough to be irritating, especially when she neared the still-tender injury on his shoulder blade, although she was more careful around the area and did not touch the wound itself. Hook gritted his teeth, grumbling,

"I'm perfectly capable of washing myself, you know."

Even though that wasn't exactly the truth, especially when it came to his back. Tiger Lily's only response was to move farther down, applying more paste when she deemed it necessary. The slight aroma of mint, mixed with other plants and herbs, carried on the breeze.

She didn't shy away from touching his backside, scrubbing the muscles and even between the cheeks with the same detached vigor as the rest of him. Moving down the backs of his legs, she didn't seem to care that he was submerged, nor that she had to stoop lower and get her shirt wet. Following quiet words of instruction, Hook lifted each foot in turn to give her access to his calves, ankles, and feet. Then she had him kneel again while she carefully washed his hair; small prickles of pleasure accompanied her fingernails against his scalp, and he fought rising desire.

That enjoyment was immediately quashed when she waded around to his front and scrubbed particularly roughly at his face, not paying much heed to whether she got water or her soap into his eyes or nose. When finally she allowed him to rinse, he spent several heartbeats running his hand again and again over his eyes until he could open them without too much discomfort. By then, she had finished with his throat and was working on his collarbone and chest, once more showing a bit of restraint around his wound.

What caused him the most pain was when she insisted on lifting his left arm to access his armpit - that brought the original anguish of the wound racing back to mind, and by the time she had finished, his hand was nearly numb from the pounding of his heart. As he hissed a few breaths, it was almost enough to distract him from her touch on his stump. But not quite. Though she was gentle, the rarely-uncovered skin was unused to this sort of contact; it tickled and burned all at the same time, and he cringed back with a grimace.

Ever methodical, Tiger Lily did not linger. She cleaned his other arm and hand, heedless of his scratched forearm, then moved on to his abdomen. Hook allowed her to get as low as he could stand, then grabbed her wrist.

"Allow me this one concession, love," he murmured in a husky voice, and she relented, smearing some of the paste into his palm and allowing him to clean his most sensitive areas - although she did watch with a critical eye, ordering him to repeat himself until she was satisfied.

It didn't exactly match his fantasies of finding himself naked in the water with a beautiful woman.

Tiger Lily took charge again, working her way down his legs, until finally she declared him clean. He certainly _felt_ it; he doubted he had ever been bathed quite so thoroughly before. The fairy commanded him to submerge himself again for once last rinse, and by the time he had come back up, she was already moving toward shore.

"Won't you allow me to return the favor?" he called after her. She was busy wringing water out of her braid and did not deign to reply. Hook sloshed himself out of the pond, where Smee held his dripping shirt for him to slip into. "Have I offended you, lass? I… seem to recall feeling a bit less… inhibited yesterday. Anything I may have uttered in that state should be taken with a grain of salt."

Tiger Lily finally met his eyes, a twinkle in her own to accompany her amused grin. "I'm well aware."

He gulped and scratched behind his ear. "Aye? Anything you'd care to repeat?"

Beside him, it appeared that Smee was attempting to hold back mirth as well. The captain raised an eyebrow, slight irritation building. "I'll have you know it's bad form to mock a man dispossessed of his faculties."

Smee bit his lip, but the corners of his mouth still curved upwards. "It's not mocking, sir… you… you should feel flattered. You're very entertaining when you loosen up a little."

Scowling, Hook waved a hand at his trousers, feeling a flush rising up his neck and face. "Are you going to carry out your duties and assist me, or shall I set about finding myself a new first mate?"

As Smee bent to clutch the garment, he muttered just loud enough for Hook to hear,

"I thought I was your favorite."

Before Hook could snap back, or make a move to step into his pants, Tiger Lily snatched them from Smee.

"Don't bother," she smirked. "Back to the cave now."

Taken aback, Hook growled,

"If you think I'm about to parade through the bloody jungle with my arse on display-"

"Trust me, Captain," she called from several yards ahead, having already set out on the journey back to her cave. "They'll just be in the way today."

All color left Hook's face as apprehension washed over him. "What the _bloody hell_ does that mean?!"


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Drained. That was the best word for it. Completely and utterly drained.

It wasn't the longest Hook had ever gone without food. Not by a long shot. The same was true for water. Running out of both was one of the many hazards of long sea voyages; one with which he was unfortunately well-acquainted. But in combination with all that Tiger Lily had put him through the past three days, it left him empty in a way he'd never before experienced.

He felt as if he could pass straight through the rock behind him; like he was slowly losing his physical presence in the world, and would soon gain the ability to commune with spirits.

Perhaps he'd run into his brother.

Or Milah.

He could still hold a conversation with the living. He followed Tiger Lily's instructions easily, without complaint; submitted to her ministrations, docile. Understanding her explanation for the tourniquet above his wrist which triggered sharp, unpleasant memories. Why he had to be shirtless, shivering in the cave's cool air. Vaguely aware of his muted interactions with his first mate - how his responses lacked the usual barbs and command - and realizing it wasn't important. Smee cared about him; _truly_ wanted the best for him. Somehow clung to a one-way friendship that Hook had always used to his full advantage. And probably would still, once all pieces of his soul were reunited.

 _If_ that happened.

Three days to contemplate his mortality. His approaching demise. Well, two days plus one of unfettered delusions of what would come, or what possibly _had_ come, in his worst moments. It didn't make it any less terrifying.

At least he could admit it, now. On the brink. Because he was hardly Captain Hook anymore, the brash pirate, fearless and vengeful. That man who threw himself headlong into danger, whatever the consequences. He had been purged away in the three days past. And Killian Jones was vulnerable. Unsure. _Afraid_.

"Is that the point of all of this?"

Smee cocked his head, uncomprehending. But Tiger Lily knew. As if she could peer into his mind. And she said only this:

"You're ready."

The poison dart - the murder weapon - loomed twice as large without his courage to contain its size.

He had no tears left; if he had, would they be shed?

Tiger Lily seemed satisfied with the answer. All her potions, tinctures, solutions: ready. But they wouldn't be enough. He knew it; she knew it; even Smee seemed to know it.

He could put a stop to it. A word, and be headed back to his ship… _home_. He didn't _want_ to die. A white sheet came to mind, with weights and stitching; the water claiming him; the darkness below. And whatever came _after_.

Tiger Lily waited. Respecting his choice.

"Please, Tiger," he whispered. His hand came off his lap; without hesitation, Smee grasped it; put his other hand on his captain's shoulder. "Please."

And the fiery sting in his neck quickly invaded his chest, seizing his heart with gripping pressure, before the tidal wave of darkness.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Smee felt his captain go limp beneath his hands. With a hammering heart, he watched Tiger Lily. She pointed at the water bucket, calm; only a hint of a tremor in her voice betraying her tension.

"Now, Smee."

The first mate dragged the bucket closer and plunged Hook's hand beneath the water. Cooling it, was the hope. Just one more way to fool the enchantment. Tiger Lily rearranged her supplies, grasping the longest dart in her fist. Then it was a waiting game.

"Is he… dead?" whispered the first mate. Tiger Lily pointed at the cuff, hissing urgently,

"Keep watch."

When Smee's eyes were firmly locked on the captain's wrist, Tiger Lily continued.

"I diluted the poison so that it slows and weakens his heartbeat to the point of being almost imperceptible, hopefully without actually killing him. With the addition of the tourniquet, and the cooling of his skin, to the cuff it will appear as if it has stopped. Unless it can sense the heart itself. Then this is all for nothing." After a beat, she added, "Long enough without the antidote, and he _will_ die. But the antidote wouldn't work if his heart were completely motionless."

Still watching the cuff, Smee nodded in understanding. He twirled the gold around his captain's wrist and searched for any sign of a crack forming, any weakness. With each passing moment, his tension grew. Even Tiger Lily began to fidget, murmuring something under her breath: a prayer, an incantation, more frustration; Smee couldn't tell. What he _did_ know, without a doubt, was that Hook didn't have much time left. The tips of his fingers were slowly turning a dusky purple, visible even under the water in the dark bucket. Smee wasn't much for cursing, but he indulged himself now, aiming a few choice words at the gold band in his grip.

His words quickly transformed into a startled exclamation: the cuff suddenly shimmered a blinding white, and a definite crack slowly split the metal.

"It's working!" Smee shouted, voice echoing around the cavern. He tugged at the cuff, but it was still stuck fast.

"Get it off, Smee," urged Tiger Lily. "We either revive him _now_ , or not at all."

Smee redoubled his efforts; the crack in the cuff had not yet fully penetrated, and no hinge had appeared on the other side. Smee whimpered in anxiety. "Just do it! Bring him back! I'll keep working on this."

The first mate hoped desperately that the enchantment was permanently broken; that it wouldn't resume its hold once it sensed Hook's strengthening heartbeat. Tiger Lily hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then she violently stabbed her dart directly into Hook's too-still chest, leaving it in place for longer than she had the others. Smee shuddered and pulled at the cuff with all his might. A faint 'snap' beneath the water released a tiny air bubble - seeming to signal the instant the crack split through the gold.

Meanwhile, Tiger Lily had rested her head over Hook's heart; she listened intently, then selected another dart and plunged it just above where the first had been.

"Come on, Captain," she breathed. "I didn't mean I _actually_ wanted you to make a murderer of me!"

And then it all happened at once. A hinge appeared on the cuff, Smee's exertions began to have an effect… and with a faint, but audible intake of breath, Hook proceeded to convulse wildly, limbs flailing, head smashing against the rock wall. Smee choked on his own startled gasp, but managed to keep hold of Hook's wrist as the bucket tipped and flooded the floor beneath them both. Much more calmly than Smee could have sounded, Tiger Lily instructed,

"Help me lay him down, away from the wall."

Keeping a few fingers between the cuff and Hook's wrist, Smee clutched the captain's twitching shoulder, and together, he and Tiger Lily dragged him toward the center of the cave. Impressively mindful of his injured shoulder, Tiger Lily rolled him onto his right side as he continued seizing.

Smee decided to trust the fairy's judgment on dealing with the seizure, and he returned all his attention to the cuff. Laboriously, he tugged and heaved, and it creaked open millimeter by millimeter. He had gotten it open just far enough to fit all but the thickest part of Hook's wrist through when his progress abruptly stopped. Even with the shaking, he could tell that the cuff would not be budging any further.

With whatever Tiger Lily was sticking into Hook's skin, the pirate's spasms were slowly subsiding, and he seemed on the verge of lucidity. Gone was the discoloration in his fingers, and his breaths were shallow and quick, but even. Tiger Lily sat with her fingers on his neck, measuring his pulse.

"Do you have any of that oil somewhere?" Smee asked tentatively.

"Furthest left shelf, in a small jar." Her eyes never left Hook's face.

The first mate hurried over to the shelf in question, located the jar in short order, and returned to his captain's side. He dug out a large quantity of grease and started rubbing it all along Hook's wrist. As he worked, he noticed Tiger Lily drizzling liquid of some sort into the captain's mouth.

Soon after, Smee used slippery fingers to wriggle the cuff sideways, dragging the open edge from pinkie side toward the thumb. Predictably, it jammed in the middle, one edge digging into the tendons and veins on the inside of Hook's wrist, the other on the opposite side. _That_ was going to leave a bruise.

He tried pulling again, but it did no good. Then, to his horror, a familiar shimmer lit the gold. He felt it twitch beneath his fingers; saw the dents where it dug into Hook's flesh get a little deeper. Casting about wildly for inspiration, Smee frantically scrubbed his hands against his trousers in an attempt to clear them of oil. If he didn't get the cuff off immediately, it might keep going… it might pierce right through.

Nothing clever came to mind. In desperation, he dug out a handkerchief, wrapped it around the metal to give himself more purchase, and turned Hook's arm to face palm up. Then, bracing his feet against Hook's arm and hand, cuff between them and his knees bent, he twisted the handkerchief around one hand while slipping the other in the vacant area inside the cuff.

"Sorry, sir," Smee murmured to the still-mostly-dazed Hook. Then, using his legs as leverage, he pulled as hard as he could. He felt more than heard the sickening pop as something in the captain's wrist succumbed to the abnormal forces being applied, and he was both heartened and sorry to hear Hook's pained grunt in response. But then the handkerchief suddenly slipped from his grip, sending him sprawling.

"Hook?" Tiger Lily prompted gently while Smee caught his breath. The captain hummed an irritable reply and shifted weakly. The fairy rested a hand on his shoulder. "Shhh, just lie still a moment and breathe. You're going to be all right."

Smee sat up, grimacing, and located Hook's arm. He'd lost his grip on the cuff… the _closed_ cuff that once again lacked a hinge, enchantment presumably reactivated. It rested directly next to Hook's wrist, and he could almost believe his scheme had been successful, except for the fact that the freed metal would have flown backwards with him. Gingerly, Smee lifted cuff and wrist.

"I… can work with this…" he mumbled, trying to sound optimistic.

The metal had indeed fused shut again - just beneath the skin on the thumbward side of Hook's wrist. Like some bizarre piercing; a hoop earring… a really _large_ one. A bruised, abraded skid mark passed from the sticking point in the center of the wrist until the place where it had snapped closed. Centimeters further, and it would have been free.

"What was the result?" wondered Tiger Lily.

"Ninety-five percent success," Smee reported. Hook appeared to be attempting to vomit and Tiger Lily stroked a gentle hand through his hair. The captain groaned and shivered, starting to reach toward his face, but Smee stopped him with a hand on his forearm. "Hey, Captain. Can you hear me?"

Hook gave a weak cough; he was panting as if he couldn't catch his breath. Tiger Lily checked his pulse again.

"Hook, I gave you something that speeds your heart up, so that's why you might be feeling anxious and tense. Just try and stay calm; it will wear off, eventually."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

With colossal effort, Hook focused on Tiger Lily's voice. It drove some of the fog away, and he was able to collect his scattered thoughts. First, that he was obviously not in the Underworld, unless his two companions had somehow joined him in death. Or could they be hallucinations?

Second, all of the physical sensations. Cold, where he lay sideways on stone. Exhausted and energized at the same time; his heart pounding, anxious claws in the pit of his gut tempting his limbs to move, screaming for him to get up and _go_. Also, pain. His chest and shoulder ached. His head throbbed. Every muscle felt wobbly and overstretched. And his wrist: a double layer of anguish, heavy and crushing deep within but bright and fiery on the surface.

Third… the reason? For the suffering? Something about being enslaved. Locked-up. Someone's puppet? No, not quite that; he wasn't doing things against his will, more like… he couldn't carry out his _own_ will. And Smee and bloody Tiger Lily were working to change that.

Reluctantly, Hook dragged his eyes open, knowing that he would only begin to feel better once he had all of the pieces back in place. Even the dim light of the fire hurt his eyes, and he groaned, again reaching toward his face and finding his arm impeded.

It was Smee. He was holding Hook's arm down with one hand while using the other to fiddle with gods-knew-what.

"Hook?" asked Tiger Lily from behind him. He didn't even bother trying to locate her face; any movement of his head was likely to intensify its complaining by multiples.

"Never imagined the afterlife would be quite this painful," groaned Hook, surprising himself and the others with his clarity. Smee glanced back at him with a grin, the relief clearly visible on his face.

"Captain! Hi. Glad you're back with us." He looked up at Tiger Lily. "That's good, right? He's out of danger?"

Hook noted the slight hesitation before she answered.

"It is good, yes. You sound aware, Captain, so most likely you avoided major brain damage. But. The toxin is still present, and could still have an effect on your heart, even to the point of slowing it or stopping it altogether. I'll need to watch you closely for the first few days, and I have some mixtures that can soften its effects. Just tell me if you start to feel strange; think you can do that?"

"Aye."

"Can he sit up?" wondered Smee.

"He could still go back into convulsions, so it's better to keep him lying down for the next hour or two." She patted Hook's elbow, addressing him. "After that, you can sit up, and have something to drink, and we'll slowly get you eating again, too."

The captain couldn't yet get excited by the prospect, as his nausea lurked nearby, although the concept of water in his dry mouth did appeal. But before he could say so, a sudden spike of pain in his wrist had him gasping in a sharp breath.

"Smee? What the bloody hell are you doing?"

The first mate's face took on a tinge of guilt, and he stole a furtive glance at Tiger Lily. "There was a… slight complication with the cuff. Sorry, Captain. But it should be fairly simple to deal with and finally get rid of it once and for all."

The details of the enchantment finally flooded back; Hook narrowed his eyes and demanded,

"What's happened? What 'complication'?"

Smee hesitated, and Hook growled,

"Let me see."

Reluctantly, Smee moved aside while warning,

"Try not to move it, sir."

The sight of the metal piercing his skin magnified the burn. It didn't seem very deep; the flesh holding it in place was curved in its displacement until the very center, so that one could follow the shape visually. It wasn't really bleeding, although purple already spread from one line to the other. Hook cursed quietly.

"I was thinking… probably the easiest thing would be to cut a… a flap, sir. Right here…" Smee indicated a short line bisecting the injury, running from one entry point to the other, on the side farther from his hand. It would create a continuous, U-shaped cut. "Then I should be able to slide it right out."

Hook swallowed several times as his nausea intensified.

"Do it," he grit out. He just wanted it gone, immensely tired of the loathsome object that had caused him so much pain and vexation. Smee chewed his lip as he returned to his preparations.

"Guess you should have waited to wake up, sir," he stated half-heartedly. "Sorry."

"Anything I could give you to help would also have a sedative effect, which is not what we want right now," Tiger Lily added. Hook snorted mirthlessly.

"That's not surprising. The both of you seem suspiciously keen on watching me suffer."

Smee missed the sarcasm, of course, but before his sputtering turned into a coherent protest, Tiger Lily suddenly asked,

"What's your real name, Hook?"

The captain raised an eyebrow and attempted to look back at her, but that only amplified the throbbing in his skull and rolling of his stomach. He winced and shut his eyes. He heard the fairy move around to crouch next to Smee as he asked,

"What?"

"Your name."

"Pirates don't require headstones, love."

Opening his eyes again, he caught her amused smirk. Resting a gentle hand on his forearm, palm covering some of the faint red lines denoting his planned tattoo, she said,

"Don't worry; that wasn't my intention. I'm just making conversation."

He met her gaze for a long moment before answering,

"It's Killian."

Then he felt Smee take hold of his wrist, and he drew a quick, strained breath; he noted that even in its current position, the cuff's enchantment could affect him, as his fingers increased their familiar buzzing. Tiger Lily tightened her grip on his arm.

"Killian Hook?"

Smee's blade bit into his skin. Hook growled in pain before releasing a tense laugh.

"That would be quite the coincidence."

Responding to a quiet request from Smee, Tiger Lily took hold of the cuff and tilted it slightly so that the edge closest to Smee's dagger pushed against and raised the skin. "Stranger things have happened."

Desperately fighting the urge to pull away, Hook gritted out,

" _Jones_. Killian Jones. Bloody hell, Smee!"

The dagger thumped to the dirt as the first mate replied,

"That should do it, I hope."

Tiger Lily surrendered the cuff to Smee, her hand joining the other on Hook's forearm. "Killian Jones. Better than Hook."

"Aye, he was," admitted the pirate, before voicing the expletives gathering in his throat. Smee was tugging on the cuff, working it toward the incision he'd just made, and it wasn't coming easily. Tiger Lily squeezed his arm.

"Hook is the tough one, though, isn't he? The survivor? The mask you wear to hide your insecurities."

Something tore beneath the skin, and Hook's cringing hiss was covered by Smee's exclamation of triumph. The cuff finally slid free; the first mate held it up with a happy grin. "Got it!"

Hook peeled his eyelids open just enough to see the cursed ring of gold in Smee's fist, sluggishly shedding a drop of blood onto the cave floor. For the first time in far too long, Hook's fingers felt _normal._ The captain grimaced a quiet sigh of relief as his first mate tossed the metal aside and returned his attention to the remaining wound. The strip of cloth serving as a tourniquet was still wrapped tight, helping to staunch the bleeding, but despite that, a steady stream trickled down Hook's wrist. Tiger Lily reached into a pocket and produced a small bottle of liquid.

"Put this on the wound before you close it," she instructed Smee. "To prevent infection."

When the burn had subsided, Hook opened his eyes to find Tiger Lily still at his side, watching him. He retreated back into the familiar.

"See something you like?"

The fairy didn't react to his insinuation; he ran his tongue along his teeth before sighing.

"Like it or not, Killian Jones _is_ Hook now, love. There's no pretext; no... separation. Your bloody potions may have blunted the comportment a bit, but…" Here he had to pause when a sharp sting told him Smee had begun his suturing. He caught his breath before continuing tightly. "...Killian Jones won't ever return. He _can't_."

Tiger Lily tilted her head as she studied him intently; he stared right back, hating how each stab of the needle caused his gaze to falter. Finally, the fairy's face softened, and she murmured,

"I think you're wrong."

Hook scoffed. "Why would you care, anyway?"

"I don't." She got up, and he found himself missing her touch on his arm. "Nothing good ever came of friendships with pirates."

"Aye, too true, lass." He clenched his jaw, determined not to take offense.

She moved to the fire and poured a steaming liquid from the pot. "When this is over, things go back to the way they were. Agreed?"

"Naturally." Then Hook winced. "What's taking so damn long, Smee? You're usually faster than this."

"Sorry, sir. Just trying to line the edges up nicely. I'm hoping it will heal better if I do."

"Bloody hell," the captain muttered.

Tiger Lily returned with a wink. "If Killian Jones ever _does_ make an appearance, send him my way. I'd like to meet him."

Hook flashed her an insincere smile. "I would advise you not to hold your breath." When she didn't reply, he eyed the cup she held with suspicion. "What's that, then?"

"Ginger water. For the nausea." She set the cup nearby to cool, then pressed her fingers into his neck to measure his pulse. Meanwhile, Smee grasped his captain's hand in order to rotate the wrist and grant himself better access to the wound; Hook flinched at the sudden flare deep within the joint.

"Smee," he groaned. "Did you _break my bloody wrist_ to get the damn cuff off?"

The first mate grimaced, shamefaced. "I… might have felt something give way. Unintentionally, of course."

"Brilliant idea, that was. Trading one cause of limited mobility for another."

"Yeah, but at least this will heal, and go away with time. Trust me; it's for the best."

Before he could curse Smee's ineptitude, Hook was overcome with dizziness, and he fell silent as he squeezed his eyes shut. Smee carefully finished the suturing, taking pride in the result: the flap had aligned perfectly, and the U-shaped line of stitches was neat and even. The ugly bruises discoloring the arm would fade with time. Gently, Smee removed the tourniquet, then ran his fingers along both bones in the forearm, searching for the inevitable fracture. Hook muttered unintelligible protests, but kept his eyes closed. Two particular areas elicited pained reactions as Smee probed carefully; however, he felt nothing that needed manipulation, at least as far as he could tell.

"Seems to be only hairline fractures, Captain. You should heal up fine."

Hook growled irritably, but without true malice. The clarity and energy brought by Tiger Lily's concoctions were fading; the emptiness returning. Sleep might help, but it might also sever his connection to his exhausted and sore body. He felt his heart stutter, as if momentarily sticking to itself before returning to normal.

Smee and Tiger Lily were working together to tend to his wrist. The fairy seemed to have some sort of paste prepared that she applied to the wound, while Smee gathered sticks to serve as splints. And despite his discomfort, Hook felt himself drifting… unsure whether he'd wake again, but unable to prevent it. Maybe Tiger Lily _was_ preparing a headstone, after all.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

"Hook. _Hook!"_

The lightest of touches on his injured shoulder, and the captain gasped a breath. His ribs felt as if they were glued together and fighting against a crushing weight on his chest; his heart fluttered in uncoordinated spasms, sending jolts of fearful adrenaline through his gut. Desperate, he tried to push himself up, but his fractured wrist wouldn't take his weight, and he fell back with a cry. Hook wheezed another breath, coughed, and cradled the limb against his torso.

Piercing pain radiated through the captain's chest and down his arm. Groaning, he cringed away from a sudden sting to his throat.

"You stopped breathing," hissed Tiger Lily from above. "Are you trying to leave us, Captain?"

Hook's stomach rolled. He grimaced and forced his eyes open: the shadows in the cave pressed down on him, heavy and foreboding. His eyes took a very circuitous route to the fairy's face - not his plan, but they got there in the end.

Tiger Lily pressed tender fingers into his neck. She looked somber but composed. Kind of beautiful, actually, if he were honest with himself. But then his heart tripped over itself and a flood of panic crashed over him; he lurched onto his elbow, panting. In one agile move, the fairy slipped behind him and helped him to sit up, her hands on his back.

Hook clutched his stump against his belly as the floor tilted dramatically. His head dropped forward; he swallowed nausea.

"Try and breathe evenly," prompted Tiger Lily. "Slow and deep."

The pounding in the pirate's head quickly became a pulsing ache. He tried valiantly to mimic the fairy's demonstrated breaths, but the pressure on his ribs prevented anything more than short gasps.

Behind him, Tiger Lily moved aside the animal skins on which he'd been resting his head, then shifted herself over to his right side.

"Scoot back," she commanded. "Then you can lean against the wall."

It was a challenge, without the use of either arm, but with Tiger Lily's assistance, he eventually managed to push himself back to settle against the cave wall. His head dropped back automatically, eliciting a wince when the tender area on the back of his skull contacted the rock. The fairy folded a hide and slid it behind his head. Then she measured his pulse once more.

To Hook, it felt as if his heart were stabilizing, the pressure on his chest subsiding. He drew an experimental breath and found he could take a larger volume of air.

Tiger Lily produced a cup of liquid and held it to his lips, insistently trickling its contents into his mouth. It had a strong herbal flavor, and the intensity of the ginger made his throat burn and eyes water.

"Bloody hell," he wheezed after gulping down the brew.

"I did warn you," she reminded him, her concern fading back to cool detachment.

"Aye, love," he admitted. He scanned the shadows unsteadily, seeking his first mate. Tiger Lily poured more tea into his mouth as he glared resentfully.

"He's gone to get some rest," she explained, reading his mind in that uncanny way of hers. "The past three days have been rough on him."

"'S'at so?" scoffed the pirate. "The poor thing." Wincing at the sharp pain in his wrist, he nevertheless lifted his hand to prevent further forced mouthfuls. The fairy rolled her eyes but surrendered the cup to his waiting grasp.

"He cares about you," she observed softly, and it was Hook's turn to roll his eyes.

"He _fears_ me," he corrected. "As it should be."

Tiger Lily didn't bother to object. Hook's mask was firmly back in place; he would never admit to any type of vulnerability. The need for deeper relationships, or any one to love him. Not now that he'd regained the lucidity drained from him the past few days. She had been lucky enough to witness the rare glimpse of Killian Jones beneath, but he'd been buried once again. Gone for good, if Hook was to be believed.

"Finish that, in your own time," she ordered. Then, without a word, she stalked away. And Hook couldn't help feeling as if he had failed a test of some kind.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

"Not yet," snapped Tiger Lily as she pushed Hook's arm back into the agonizing stretch she had demonstrated mere seconds before. "You have to hold it."

Panting shallowly - deeper breaths only intensified the stretch and, thus, the pain - Hook forced a strained laugh through clenched teeth. "I should think... there would be value in initial... caution."

"Big, brave pirate afraid of a little pain?"

Wincing a scowl, Hook grunted,

"Only when said... pain seems to be undoing the healing... so diligently attained."

The fairy _finally_ released his elbow, and Hook groaned as the shoulder relaxed.

"Unless you want this injury to plague you for the rest of your _long_ life, you need to start rebuilding flexibility and strength. Now this way."

Tiger Lily pulled his arm in a different direction; Hook grimaced, tensing, shifting his weight instinctively to accommodate the complaining joint. But the fairy wouldn't allow him to seek relief. With a hand behind his neck, she coaxed him into the proper posture. While the pirate hissed curses under his breath, Tiger Lily glanced at Smee, who was watching with rapt attention.

"Don't let him weasel his way out of this. He'll need to daily increase the length of time holding the stretches. Understand?"

"I'll do my best, Miss Tiger Lily," promised the first mate. The fairy gently returned the arm to neutral.

"You'll have to hide my hook," growled the captain, sweating profusely. "Or I can guarantee it will find its way between your ribs."

"And also try to extend the range of the stretch by increments," added the fairy, calmly demonstrating yet another agonizing exercise. "Just a small bit each day."

"Bloody hell," was all the captain could contribute.

After several more moments of anguish, Tiger Lily finally let go of his arm and stood. Hook's shoulder throbbed in quick pulses, accompanying the rapid rhythm of his heart. Gingerly leaning back against the cave wall, the captain glared at his first mate and the fairy in turn. Smee offered him water, and he accepted, the twinges from his fractured wrist helping to distract from the shoulder. He briefly ran his thumb along the side of the cup and reveled in the unhampered ability to feel its smooth texture.

Tiger Lily returned with a handful of ice wrapped in a linen sack. Where she'd managed to acquire such a commodity was an absolute mystery, but it would do no good to ask her. Hook allowed her to rest the ice pack over his shoulder.

"What's your price?" he asked warily. Tiger Lily cocked her head, silent. "You never do anything unless it benefits you in some way. Assistance with the shoulder was not part of our deal."

"Are you _really_ complaining?" she asked incredulously.

"No, love; merely curious."

Tiger Lily stepped back and raked his form with an assessing stare. His color was good, his breaths even and steady. His mental status was obviously as sharp as ever. He had been able to keep down the tasteless broths she had been preparing for him, and had even managed some bread earlier that morning. In the three days since the removal of the cuff, the shadows beneath his eyes had lessened, his face becoming less skeletal. And his heartbeat, frequently measured by both the fairy and Smee, had steadied as the toxin slowly left his system.

Abruptly, Tiger Lily folded her arms. "We're done here."

Taken aback, both pirates looked at her questioningly. She turned toward her collection of herbs, intent on supplying Hook with those still necessary for his continued recovery.

"Done?" repeated Hook. "With everything? Your bloody poisons, the water you call 'soup' - the lot?"

She shrugged. "Unless you _like_ it here. You can just as easily finish recuperating aboard your ship. And then _I_ can finally get some peace."

Eyes hardening, Hook adopted the aloofness he was so good at projecting. "More than fine by me. So long as you're certain I won't suddenly drop dead the moment I set foot outside."

"Reasonably," she replied, just as carelessly. "But you have Smee to watch out for you."

"Oh, brilliant," muttered Hook. "What could possibly go wrong?"

The first mate got up and hurried to Tiger Lily's side, wringing his hands anxiously.

"Are you sure about this? I mean, if there's any chance that he… I think you should be around to… what if…"

Tiger Lily thrust a collection of darts in his direction, her eyes betraying amusement. "Any trouble, stick him with one of these." She lowered her voice and then added, "It doesn't have to be justified, either. He treats you poorly, this will mellow him out."

Eyes wide, Smee continued to stammer. "I… could never, I mean…"

Returning her attention to the suspicious captain, Tiger Lily carried her mixtures within easy viewing. Holding up each pouch, one after another, she explained so that both men could hear.

"This one helps to flush out the toxin. A pinch in some water, twice a day, until it's gone. _This_ one supports your heart while the toxin still circulates. Chew one leaf upon waking, one midday, and one before bed. Once the first pouch is empty, you can stop these, although it wouldn't hurt if you used them up, as well."

Hook recognized both as treatments Tiger Lily had utilized the past few days. Rolling his eyes, he nodded his head toward his first mate, and the fairy surrendered both pouches to Smee's nervous grasp.

"Wait; those shoulder exercises… I might need to try them out first, and make sure I-"

"Come near this shoulder right now, Mister Smee, and I'll strangle the life from you, broken wrist and all."

Hook was not joking. Smee winced and held up an appeasing hand.

Gathering his breath - and strength - Hook drew his legs underneath himself. Then, using the wall for support, he pushed himself up.

It wasn't the first time he'd stood since he had been revived, but it would be the first time he had walked any significant distance. He downed the rest of the water and tossed the cup onto the dirt, then placed his hand over the precious bag of ice balanced precariously on his shoulder. Smee hurried to his side, ready to assist if required. Tiger Lily watched impassively with hands on hips.

"Suppose I owe you thanks," began the captain. She pursed her lips.

"The best thanks would be to keep your promise. No pirates on my land. That includes _you_."

Exasperated, but keeping his face and voice hard, Hook assured her,

"I'm a pirate of my word, lass. You'll never see me again, unless you take it upon yourself to venture from your solitude."

"Until…" she prompted. He sighed.

"Until the Jolly Roger is ready to leave this cursed island for good. Then we trek back here to retrieve you - assuming, of course, that you won't kill us on sight."

Tiger Lily gave no assurances. Hook took a few tentative steps toward the cave entrance. Then he stopped.

His well-wishes died on his lips at the outright hostility on display. Whether the fairy was protecting herself, or truly possessed no fondness for the duo… whatever the reason, it was clear she expected no sentiment. Hook straightened, exuding disdain.

"Later, then, lass."

"Hook." She almost spat the word… and it stung. Without further comment, or even a glance back, the captain made his careful way out into the moonlight, Smee close at his elbow.

It was a good thing they were banned from this place. Hook never wanted to see it again.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Hook kept the cuff locked away in his cabin until the next foray into another realm. There was no way in Hell he would dispose of it anywhere within Pan's reach; such a mistake would surely have unpleasant consequences.

In the meantime, the captain slowly recovered from the disastrous month past. It took him nearly a fortnight to fully shake off the effects of Tiger Lily's toxin; even then, his heart would flutter at the most inopportune moments for several more weeks, leaving him breathless and dizzy.

The U-shaped cut on his wrist healed without incident, just one more battle scar to add to his vast collection. The fractured bones, however, posed more of a challenge: his still-healing shoulder restricted the use of his hook, and he was forced to utilize the hand on several occasions despite the resulting pain.

Pan was predictably unsympathetic to his plight during the brutal extra liaisons Hook had agreed to in exchange for Tiger Lily's solitude. That alone probably delayed his recuperation by at least a month.

Luckily - or, more likely, due to those very same torture sessions with the little demon - the Jolly Roger crew members were left more or less to their own devices for quite awhile. The Lost Boys had given up harassing their foraging parties, and Pan was content keeping Hook in Neverland rather than off running his errands far away.

In fact, nearly six weeks had passed since Hook's return from Tiger Lily's cave. Which meant closer to ten weeks since his encounter with the spear belonging to Titus' brother. After taking the time to finally study the book - the only positive result of that blasted expedition - Hook had not yet concluded whether or not it had all been worth it. What good was knowing the dagger's appearance when he still had no clue where to find it?

Still, he did stick to the plan of tattooing the reminder on his arm. When his wrist was recovered enough to gingerly grip a pencil, Hook used the downtime to sketch a more detailed design based on the one inspired by his drugged ramblings. He copied exactly the drawing from the prized book, wanting the depiction to be as accurate as possible. The swirls of dark magic emanating from the impaled heart were artistic and menacing, as caution against reckless action should he one day meet the Crocodile unprepared.

When grimly pleased with the design, Hook showed it to Starkey, who fancied himself a bit of a tattoo artist. The bosun willingly agreed to transform the sketch into a permanent symbol; he even had new inks that were supposedly fade-resistant. He didn't say where he had acquired them, but Hook was of the opinion that their pouch and containers suspiciously resembled certain belongings of a certain cave-dweller he had recently encountered.

In any case, Starkey spent several long hours carefully pricking the ink into the skin of Hook's forearm, impressively mimicking the sketch until it was almost perfectly duplicated, then darkening lines, filling in the red heart, and even adding realistic shading where appropriate.

It was during one of these sessions that the ship finally left the confines of Neverland's seas and traversed a portal to an Enchanted Forest harbor. When the wild motion had stopped, Hook would only allow a quick rum rinse of the oozing skin before he headed up on deck to get their bearings; Starkey followed close on his heels.

The port was not a familiar one, but it was also too busy for any sort of illegal activity, especially with their recently-diminished crew. Whenever Pan was not after a specific item, their general instructions were to cause mayhem, bring the demon a share of the loot, and scout for potential Lost Boys for Pan's Shadow to collect. So Hook ordered the Jolly Roger be put out to sea in search of a suitable target.

He hadn't yet had the opportunity to scrutinize his nearly-completed tattoo in bright sunlight; as his crew efficiently set to work, Hook took the time to do just that. And it looked _good_. He caught Starkey watching him and sent the bosun an approving nod. Then he went back below to retrieve the cursed cuff. He was more than ready to have the blasted thing off of his ship.

They were already out of sight of land by the time he returned, small leather pouch in hand. Smee's worry - that by even touching the metal, Hook could cause it to somehow jump back around his wrist - seemed far-fetched; still, after all he had endured to be rid of it, Hook dared not take any chances. He climbed the stairs and strode to the ship's stern, where he leaned casually as he worked the pouch open. He scowled at a twinge from his still-tender wrist. Then, without ceremony, he dumped the cuff into the sea; a fitting addition to Davy Jones' locker, where it could cause no further trouble. Briefly, he considered all of the recent ways _he_ could have been headed there, instead. But Hook didn't linger long.

Vengeance called.

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 **AN: Thanks so much for reading! I do have a vague idea for another story, but it will be a while :) In the meantime, I'll be lurking here and on tumblr and enjoying the wonderful fanworks all you talented people share so generously. Hooray for Hookers!**


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